The Head and the Heart
by rippingbutterflywings
Summary: Clary Fray, a ginger ale-loving artist from New York, is staying with the Lightwoods in Paris for the summer to complete an art program. There she meets Jace Wayland, comedy show enthusiast and future architect. As the two of them feel a connection, will the imminent promise of summer ending—and them being apart—get in the way of falling in love?
1. A Departure Into Unknown Lands

_Hi, guys! So, as_ Maybe Someday _comes to a close, I thought I'd post a story I've been working on for a long, looooooooooong time. Like, forever. It's bad. It's a two-part story, meaning that it **will** have a sequel, so yay! Exciting! Thanks to my beta, IWriteNaked, for cheering me on this whole year that I've been alternating between writing/planning this and then keeping it on hold for months at a time. I can't believe this is finally going up, but I'm pumped! Thanks to DeathCabForMari, who has heard us talk about this in our chat but hasn't read it, because you're awesome and I love you. _

_This story won't have a set update schedule, but I'll try to update anywhere from 2-4 times a month. Because of school, work, and life in general, I don't want to set a schedule. I don't want to end up disappointed when I skip an update, so I'll just say that 2-4 times a month, this will be updated._

 _I hope you guys like this!_

* * *

 **"The gladdest moment in human life, me thinks, is a departure into unknown lands."**

 **\- Sir Richard Burton**

* * *

Simon gives me the last of the many hugs he has been giving to me today. Honestly, it's not like I'm dying or anything.

Well, I'm kind of dying of excitement. But you know what I mean.

"Call me when you get there," he says to me.

"Simon." I put a hand on his shoulder. "You get to see me tomorrow. And, besides, it's only for three months."

"Only?" He scoffs. "That's a lot of time, Clary Fray. A dog's pregnancy lasts three months. New puppies will have been brought into this world by the time you get back."

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lewis."

"Yeah, yeah." He sneaks in another hug before walking away from the steps of my apartment building.

Despite my nonchalant attitude, I'm nervous. I've never even met Maryse Lightwood—the woman I'm going to stay with when I go to Paris tomorrow—and I've never been to Paris. The two things are completely foreign concepts. And, well, I kind of don't like change.

But I do love art.

The art program I'm going to in Paris takes two and a half months. My mom let me stay an extra two weeks to explore the city, which is super nice of her, since I'll be missing school.

But, well, who cares about senior year, anyway?

I walk into the building, going up the first set of the stairs before locating my apartment. Having an apartment on the second floor is sucky, but it's better than having a fifth floor apartment, to say the least.

My mom, Jocelyn, is sitting on the couch, watching TV. When she hears the door open, she turns, regarding me with a smile. "How was Eric's poetry reading?"

I cringe. "It was very Eric."

She gives me a tired smile. "Are you all set for tomorrow?"

I nod. "I'm insanely ready."

She stands up. "Your flight leaves at ten, so we have to be there at seven, and you get there at five of our time, eleven of theirs. So get sleep," she warns. "No staying up to talk to Simon or sketch. You'll have plenty of time for that in Paris."

I let my mom wrap me into a hug. It scares me to leave her here, but she'll always have Luke. "I know. I'm tired, anyway."

"I'll let you go to bed, then." She gives me a final pat on the back before retreating to her room.

I enter mine. It's a mess of clothes and art supplies, though Mom insisted that I don't take that many, because they'll give me what I need in Paris. Still, I want to take my stuff. It'll make it feel homier. I have a few books—most of them art-related and required reading for school—packed up as well.

I start gathering my stuff from the floor. The clock reads 9pm, and I'm exhausted. I just finished school yesterday, and Simon dragged me out of bed early today so we could spend quality time before my "big departure." He's so dramatic.

Spending the summer in Paris has been my dream for quite a while now, but it just didn't seem realistic. But it's the summer before my senior year, and I want to improve my artistic skills before I start applying to college, so my mom got in contact with her high school friend, Maryse Lightwood, who said it was no problem, and that she would love to have me stay with her the whole summer, and here I am, with my bags mostly packed and my heart ready to go.

Once everything is as it should be—bag fully packed, zipped, and with a lock—I change into my pajamas. My whole body relaxes as I slip into the comfortable material. I turn off the lights, tuck myself in, and will myself to sleep.

But I can't.

Traveling is one of my favorite things to do. Not that I get to do it much, of course, not since my dad passed away when I was just four. It may sound like the worst thing ever, but I don't miss him. I don't really remember my childhood. My earliest memory is of my first day at kindergarten, when I picked up a crayon and drew all over a table. It was awesome.

Anyway, because of my lack of traveling experience despite my humongous love for it, I'm nervous. I have the way airports work drilled into the back of my mind—thanks to Simon, who travels every summer and winter—but I still wonder if I'll fuck up. If I'll get on the wrong plane. If I'll miss my flight.

Oh my god, what am I _doing?_

 _Breathe,_ I tell myself, but I've already freaked myself out too much. My heart is racing, my mouth drying. The truth is, even though I love new stuff, I hate change. This is a change. This is a big, fat, huge change, and why did I agree to this? Why did I agree to spending an entire summer away from my mom and Simon and Luke and the city and oh my GOD, what have I done?

 _Relax. You're just freaking out. It's Paris._ I listen to the rational part of myself soothe me. Seriously, I'm going crazy. I force my breathing to slow down until it's mostly normal. I'm freaked out because this is a massive mess of new things. New city, new language, new people…it's all kind of strange. Simon says not to worry, that I'll do fine, that Paris is for all the artsy people like me anyway, and I haven't found it in me to disagree, because it has been my dream for a while.

Except now. Mostly because I can't sleep. No sleeping = no dreaming.

I think of Paris and its overhyped streets (Simon has been to France and has announced that it isn't nearly as gorgeous as everyone thinks it is, but Paris could be made out of trash and I would love it anyway), of the Eiffel Tower, of all the art galleries and the movie theaters. I make myself relax until I slip from a daydream (nightdream?) to an actual dream, my thoughts fading into nothingness.

* * *

My mom looks like she's about to cry.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I mean, I know, it's my first time traveling alone and maybe she's all _ohhh, Clary's growing up_ , but seriously? Tears? Come on, Jocelyn.

"Call me when you get there," Mom says, giving me hug. "Or write me an email if you can't call. And have fun," she reminds me. "This is an opportunity you need to take and enjoy and make the best of. Got it?"

"Yeah, Mom." I smile at her. "Seriously. I got it." I'm thanking her a million times on the inside for paying for my classes and funding the trip (I'm taking care of all personal expenses, though, so there's that), but I don't say anything out loud. It'd be too awkward and a little too emotional. "I got it."

"I'll see you in three months." She gives me another hug and a forehead kiss before walking off. I've checked in, and we're standing a few feet away from the security checkpoint.

It's Simon's turn. He pushes his glasses up—they fell and are now tilted, so they're uneven—and wraps his arms around me. "Don't have too much sex with hot Parisian boys," he warns me. "And beware of drugs. And kidnapping. You know, I've seen _Taken_ , and—"

I smack his arm to shut him up. "I'll be _fine_. I'll email you when I get to the house."

"If they even have internet in France," he mutters.

"Simon," I say, exasperated, "you've been to France. Seriously, calm down."

He sighs. "I'm gonna miss you, Fray."

"Try not to cry in the car." I give him a hug, squeezing as hard as I can while standing on my tiptoes, and let go. "I'll see you in three months?"

"You definitely will." He winks at me, and I roll my eyes as he whirls around and walks away.

I go through security without looking back.

I get some food and wait at the gate. Unsurprisingly, I was able to get through this easily. I have no idea why I freaked out last night. I munch on my salad and listen to music until the flight starts boarding.

So yeah, Paris. Wow. I throw away the plastic container that held the remains of my salad and pull out the gum packet from my pocket. I unwrap and chew it, and life is veeeery exciting in those couple of minutes I wait in line and try not to make eye contact with people. I board the plane, find my seat, sit down (I have a window seat!), and wait.

I pull out my sketchbook and set of pencils. My music is still playing, and I know it'll be another fifteen to twenty minutes before we take off, so I start sketching the inside of the plane. I'm about to be done with the outline when a flight attendant politely tells me that I need to close the tray thing because we're about to take off. I apologize, close the tray, and shove my sketchbook messily into my bag.

The nerves are threatening to come back. Electronics are supposed to be off, but I always have a way of hiding that music is playing. My iPhone's on airplane mode, but one of the songs from the _Pitch Perfect_ soundtrack is playing, making me feel slightly better. Thank god.

The song changes to "Sleeping With A Friend" by Neon Trees just as the plane starts to move faster, making me grip the edge of my seat. I'm not scared of this part, but the pressure makes my back press against my seat.

 _All my friends, they're different people  
_ _Anxious like the ocean in a storm  
_ _When we go out  
_ _Yeah, we're a legend  
_ _Coursing through our bodies 'til we're warm_

 _And why mess up a good thing, baby?  
_ _It's a risk to even fall in love  
_ _So when you give that look to me  
_ _I better look back carefully  
_ ' _Cause this is trouble  
_ _Yeah, this is trouble_

The song keeps playing, but all I notice as we rise up into the air is how little everything seems when you look at it from up above. Like every little problem isn't a problem when you're in the air, because you can barely see the buildings, let alone the people. It makes me feel better, more relaxed.

I decide to finish my sketch. I have plenty of time to sleep—my flight goes directly to Paris, and it's almost eight hours long. I continue to sketch the details of the inside of the plane, stopping only when one of the flight attendants asks me if I want anything to drink. After my ginger ale is on my tray, I keep going like I never stopped at all. I wonder if I should've asked for coffee, but then I decide that it's better to save that for later, when I'll be tired and in need of something to boost my poor social skills.

I put away my sketchbook after an hour, having finished my sketch, and take out an art book Simon bought me as an early birthday present. I skim through it as I sip on my ginger ale, wishing I had a highlighter on me so I could make note of the different styles of drawing and whatnot. Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to re-read this in Paris.

Finally, nearing the third hour of our flight, I decide to take a nap. My music is still playing in the background—I play my soothing music mix, the one I use when I can't sleep but need to—and decide to focus on it as my head rests against the hard wall of the plane and I drift off to a light sleep.

* * *

The announcement that we're about to land is what makes me wake up. It's very sudden, very movie-like—I snap my head up, feeling lost and confused, and wait for the reality to sink in: I'm in France! Paris! Yay!

I take a piece of gum from my pocket and chew on it, opening the window to reveal the sky. I can't really see anything, because it's dark; it's eleven p.m., after all.

We start descending. Thankfully, the sky is clear of clouds, and it's not raining tonight, so there's no turbulence. As we go down further, I see the city lights. I see tiny buildings and the street divisions. Oh my god.

I'm in Paris.

As I start to make out little buildings and tiny cars, we land. It's never graceful, a plane landing, but this one hurts my back. I really have to pee, too. I love traveling, but eight hours of being stuck on a plane ain't exactly my dream.

It takes fifteen minutes for us to start leaving the plane. It's warm outside, probably in the 60s range of temperature, but I can only tell that much from the little breeze that flows through from the outside to the cabin's entrance. I keep walking, head down, suddenly feeling self-conscious. All of these people look like they're here for business—except one or two, but they look way older and more experienced than I do—and it makes me feel nervous. Maybe this was a bad idea.

The line for customs is huge. It takes twenty minutes for me to get to the front, and I answer the usual questions while my heart beats rapidly against my chest. What if he thinks I'm lying? Oh my god. This sucks.

I go down to baggage claim as soon as he lets me go. I'm scared of getting lost, but I just follow the people. Peeing can totally wait.

I get my super heavy bag from the carousel thing and wheel it into the bathroom with me, not trusting anyone who offers to look after it. My life is looking a lot better after I pee. I go down to the exit area, looking for the people that're supposed to pick me up. Mom showed me an old picture of Maryse Lightwood—she's skinny and tall, with black hair and blue eyes—but the picture was taken, like, twenty years ago.

I start to freak out after I can't spot her in the crowd. Damn it, why are there so many people? I tell myself to breathe and to keep looking, and, just when I'm about to give up, I spot my name written in block letters on a white piece of paper being held up by a girl looking a lot like the picture of Maryse my mom showed me.

I walk over to her. "Hi," I say. "I'm Clary." I point to her sign.

The girl gives me a hug that throws me off guard. Okaaaaay. So she's very affectionate. Got it. She lets go of me after I awkwardly pat her back. "I'm Isabelle Lightwood, but you can call me Izzy. My mom's Maryse," she explains, "but she's in London until tomorrow, so I came to get you instead."

She speaks really fast. How is she not out of breath? Honestly. "Nice to meet you, Izzy."

"You too, Clary. It is _so_ nice to have another girl around." She rolls her eyes. "The boys are nuts."

"Awesome," I mutter.

"I mean, I have three brothers. One of them is adopted, but still. Anyway, they gang up on me all the time, and—well, you'll see." She grins and takes my suitcase.

"Oh, I can carry that," I say lamely.

"It's fine," she says. I'm kind of relieved. That thing's heavy, and Isabelle doesn't seem to mind.

We walk over to a cab. Huh. I guess she doesn't have a car. The driver, who stands smoking outside, puts out his cigarette and joins us in getting the suitcase into the trunk. Isabelle and I sit in the back, and she gives him her address. I don't catch any of it, of course, because all I know is how to say _hello_ and _my name is Clary Fray_ and _I'm sixteen years old._ I'm working on the other phrases, though. It's a good thing the art program's in English.

We make it to her house, which is… _huge_ doesn't begin to cover it. It's like a castle in a movie or something. It's nuts, and I love it, and I swear to myself that I'm gonna draw it before I leave. Not that I can see it well right now, but still. I'm exhausted. That cup of coffee I wanted? I slept through the entire plane ride, so I didn't get a chance to order it, and now I feel like death with finger-combed hair. Amazing.

We take my bag out of the trunk. I clutch my tote bag and let Isabelle roll my suitcase past through the driveway and to the entrance.

"Fuck," she mutters. "I forgot my keys." She proceeds to ring the doorbell. "Someone has to be up. It's almost one, but still."

And, just as predicted, there _is_ someone. Said someone has hair sticking up in every direction, and I'm pretty sure there's glitter on his face. I've seen weirder.

"Magnus! Thank god," Isabelle says, giving him a quick hug. "Take care of the bag for me?"

"Of course, sweetie." He winks at her. "And who is this?"

"Didn't Alec tell you?" Isabelle asks him. "This is Clary. She's gonna be living with us this summer. She's going to an art program here."

"Nice to meet you, Clary." He gives me a tired smile. "I'm usually more enthusiastic, but you interrupted a _very_ private moment between me and Alec."

"It was actually Isabelle," I blurt out. "But nice to meet you too."

"Putting the blame on me, huh?" Izzy smiles at me and turns to Magnus. "She'll be staying across the hall from me."

I don't know what else to say, so I follow her in. The house is huge on the inside, of course, but it just has a lot of rooms instead of being an open house. The living room is the only open part, and it's huge, with three couches and a couple of ottomans. There's a huge plasma TV by the wall, which is nice.

"The kitchen's that door." Isabelle points to the right. "You must be starving."

My stomach rumbles. "I think that answers the question."

"Well, we can go to your room and get you settled in, and you can shower and get dressed or whatever, and then we can eat. Sound good?"

Despite my exhaustion, I nod. If I don't eat, I'll feel like hell in the morning. "That sounds good."

I follow her and Magnus upstairs. My room here is bigger than mine at home. It shouldn't surprise me, what with the size of this house and all, but it still manages to. It has wooden floors, and the window shows me the view of a lake. I have a windowsill (yay!), and a bookshelf (double yay!), which is pretty perfect. My bed is king-sized, I think, and there's a desk and a nice closet. I even have my own bathroom.

It's sorta kinda perfect.

"Do you like it?" Izzy bites her lip. "I pretty much decorated it last week, after classes finished. I love decorating, so this was just a side project."

"I love it," I say, even though I mostly love the actual layout of the room. It's good, though; it doesn't have neon colors and mostly focuses on solid ones, which are my favorites.

"Well, I'll let you get ready. Knock on my door when you wanna get some food?"

"Got it," I tell her. "Thanks."

Magnus left without me noticing. My bag sits on the floor, and I lock my door and lay it down, searching through it until I find my pajama pants and plain black shirt. Perfect. Thank god I showered this morning so I don't have to wash my hair.

I'm done in fifteen minutes. The ends of my hair got wet, but oh well. I knock on Isabelle's door after sending my mom and Simon respective emails letting them know that I got in okay.

"Come in," Isabelle calls out.

I step into her room. It's about as big as mine, which is good. She's on her laptop, typing away. "Sorry," she says, looking sheepish. "I'm just emailing Mom, letting her know you're here."

"It's okay," I tell her, inspecting her room. She has a lot of black stuff, but her room doesn't look like an emo girl's room or anything. It's actually kind of nice and mellow—or it would be, if she didn't have her bras all over the place and a couple of Zac Efron posters up. I didn't think a girl like Isabelle would still be into Zac Efron—or have posters of him up on her walls for everyone to see—but I roll with it.

"Okay." She stands up. "Let's go get some food."

We walk downstairs, our footsteps making the floorboards creak. The kitchen has brighter lights than the rest of the house; they're almost fluorescent.

"Do you want a grilled cheese sandwich or something?"

I nod. "Okay."

"You know, the super annoying thing is that my idiot brother forgot to take his keys tonight, so I have to stay up to open the door for him." She shakes her head. "He's such an idiot."

"I thought your brother was upstairs."

"There's three of 'em."

"Where are the other two?"

"One of them is sleeping—the youngest, Max, who's nine—and Jace, who's the same age as Alec, is at some party. I don't know." She shakes her head again. "I usually go with him, but I just haven't felt up to it lately. He's kind of been overdoing it." She spreads butter over a slice of bread. It makes a sizzling sound when it meets the hot frying pan.

"He sounds interesting," I say. "It sucks that you have to stay up, though. When does he usually get in?"

"An hour or two, probably."

"I could stay up with you, if you want."

Another shake of the head. "You need sleep. When does your art program start?"

"A week," I tell her. "And then I have a week or so after it's done to do more stuff."

"We can go shopping!" Her eyes are shining with excitement. Oh god. "This is so exciting!" She's all but squealing. Seriously.

"Sounds great." My enthusiasm is just off the charts today. "I usually sleep until late, though."

"I'll let you sleep in tomorrow," she promises me. "Besides, I usually don't wake up until noon during the summer, so all's good."

Finally. Something we both do.

We eat our grilled cheese sandwiches and sip on orange juice in silence. She asks me a couple of things, like what grade I'm going into this fall (I tell her I'm gonna be a senior), how old I am (sixteen), what my favorite movie is (all-time favorite is _Heathers_ , but current favorite is _Stuck in Love_ ). We keep going at it until I let out a yawn and she tells me to go to bed.

"I'll keep interrogating you tomorrow," she says with a wink as we walk upstairs, and we say goodbye and shut our respective doors.

The bed has never seemed more comfortable. I feel like it's swallowing me up. I connect my phone (which is still on airplane mode) to the WiFi (which you don't need a password for, thank god) and check quickly to see if my mom and Simon have emailed me back. When I see that there are two new emails, I decide to read them, even though I'm so tired that my vision is blurry.

From: **simonlewis123**

To: **clareefray**

 _I'm so glad to hear that you got in safely. Get some rest. Skype date tomorrow at midnight of your time?_

From: **clareefray**

To: **simonlewis123**

 _I'm in bed! You're on for the Skype date, though. We'll talk tomorrow. :)_

I click on my mom's email, bracing myself for some long rant about how she misses me. Either that, or a one-word reply.

From: **jocelynfray**

To: **clareefray**

 _Hi, sweetie! I am glad that you got in okay. Please let Maryse know; she told me this morning she was going to be in London and that her daughter Isabelle would pick you up. Anyway, I am sure you will want to get some rest. I will talk to you tomorrow. Sweet dreams! I love you._

 _-Mom_

From: clareefray

To: jocelynfray

 _Hey, Mom. Isabelle emailed Maryse already. I'm in bed, yeah. Talk to you tomorrow. I love you too._

After finally replying to all of their messages, I set my phone down on the nightstand and bury my head in the comfortable pillows, letting sleep come to me.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think!_


	2. The (Fake) Boyfriend

_Hey, guys! Thank you so much for your amazing responses to the first chapter of THATH. I loved reading every single one, and responding to those who had accounts. Every single thing you guys said meant the world to me._

 _Thanks to my homeboy, IWriteNaked, for beta'ing. I love you and your comments and I'm sorry about your OTP. Thanks to DeathCabForMari for being so awesome and supportive. I love you guys._

 _Hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

I wake up to the sound of someone pounding on my door. For a second, I'm unaware of where I am, of the unfamiliar room and the too-big bed I'm on. But then I remember Paris, and I realize that Isabelle's probably the person knocking like a nutcase on my door.

"Claaaaaaryyyyyy!" Yep. Isabelle. "You've been sleeping for thirteen hours!"

WHAT.

Holy motherfucking shit. Oh my god. Thirteen hours.

"I'm up!" I say loudly, hoping she'll hear it. My head hurts, probably from sleeping too much, and I stand up slowly.

Isabelle's gone when I open the door. She's in her room; her door is open, and she's sitting at her desk, on her computer. "Heeeey," she says when she sees me. "Sorry about the pounding. I was beginning to worry you were dead. You okay?"

"Starving," I reply. "Sorry about the oversleeping."

"Jet lag's a bitch," is all she says. "Let's go to the kitchen and make you some food."

I nod and follow her down the stairs. It's almost three in the afternoon, I notice. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. I need to get back on track when it comes to my sleeping pattern.

"So, what do you like? Bacon? Toast? Pancakes? 'Cause we have—"

"We're ordering pizza if you're making food," says a voice from behind me. I whirl around to find two boys. One is tall and handsome, with dark hair and light eyes. He's definitely Alec.

The other guy is tall, too, but he's Alec's opposite. He has blond hair and golden eyes; he is the day to Alec's night.

I would love to sketch 'em both sometime. Probably not gonna happen, though.

Izzy rolls her eyes. "You're assholes," she comments. "This is Clary."

"I'm Alec," the dark-haired boy says, giving me a smile. Good to know I was right. "Are you sure you're willing to try out Isabelle's cooking? Because—"

"I actually ate a grilled cheese she made me last night," I tell him.

"And you didn't get food poisoning?"

"Made it through the night," I say with a smile.

"Amazing," says the other boy. "You actually made something that didn't kill somebody."

"Jace, I have _never_ —"

"My birthday cake. The one you made when I was turning fourteen. Izzy, I had to go to the hospital."

She rolls her eyes and waves him off. "Details. I was an amateur."

"Oh my god," Jace says. "You're going to kill Clary."

"Let's just order pizza," Alec tells them, getting the house phone.

"Fiiiiine." Isabelle sticks out her tongue at Jace. "I hate you."

He turns to me. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jace."

"Clary. But you knew that," I say, feeling like an idiot. Here he is, hot and cool and nothing like any guy I've ever talked to, and I'm in danger of babbling. Awesome.

Shit. I need to email Simon.

I pour myself a glass of orange juice. "I have to go up. Really important. Life-threatening crap going on."

"Do you need to talk to your boyfriend?"

I snap my head up and meet Isabelle's amused stare. "What?"

"You got really nervous. It was the only thing I could come up with."

I shake my head until my neck kind of hurts. "He's not my boyfriend. Just a very concerned friend who insists that I let him know I'm not dead from time to time."

"So a boyfriend."

"You and I have very different definitions of that term, it seems."

Isabelle grins. "Is he cute?"

Jace, who had gone out to tell Alec to order two pizzas (one pepperoni, one cheese), walks in just to hear this. "Is who cute?"

"Clary's boyfriend." Isabelle waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh my god," I tell her. "I do not have a boyfriend."

"What's his naaaame?"

"He's not. My. Boyfriend."

"Yeah, yeah." She waves me off. "What's he like?"

"Nerdy. Weird. You'd hate him."

"Is this your way of officially declaring that he's your boyfriend?"

Isabelle's nice, but she makes me want to punch a baby sometimes—and I've known her for less than a day.

I roll my eyes and walk past her, glass of juice in hand. Seriously, though, Simon, being the overprotective dude he is, is probably freaking out.

Sure enough, when I check my email, I have three new emails from him. And it's 9am over there. What. In. The. Name. Of. Hell.

I email him, telling him to Skype me NOW, and I'm facing him not five minutes later with a glare.

"Claryyyyyy."

"Dude, seriously."

"You've never traveled by yourself before! I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You're being weird."

"I'm not being weird."

"You're being totally weird, Simon. Not even my mom's emailed me."

He has the decency to look apologetic. "Sorry. I was bored, too. And I miss you. Those two things didn't help."

My expression softens. Damn him. "I forgive you," I say, rolling my eyes. "But no more of this crap, okay? The next time you email me that much, I want it to be 'cause you, like, got laid or something. I want it to be something big, not you thinking that I died in my sleep or got kidnapped by the mafia. Honestly."

"I'll be sure to email you right after I get laid, which'll be when I'm about forty."

"I'm sure you can pay off someone to have sex with you before you're twenty," I say with a grin. "How's New York?"

"We booked a show. We play at some café on Friday, which is gonna be…crazy. Also, Eric just texted me. He says you're hot."

"How charming." I sip on my juice. There's a knock on my door. "Come in," I call out.

"Huh?" Simon looks confused.

"Hey, I was just wondering if—oh," she says. "So this is your boyfriend." Isabelle stands in front of the camera to examine him. Simon is getting a clear view of her boobs. I can tell because he has this dumbfounded look, which is hilarious.

"Not my boyfriend."

"You said I was your boyfriend?"

"I did not," I say. "What's up, Iz?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to go out later."

"Where to?"

She shrugs. "Make a list of places you wanna go to, and I'll make one of places I wanna take you. Sound good?"

"Perfect."

She stands there awkwardly until I give in. "Simon," I say slowly, "this is Isabelle Lightwood. Iz, this is Simon, my best friend. Not," I add, "my boyfriend."

"Nice to meet you." She waves at him. "I have to go pick up Max from his summer camp with Alec. Are you and Jace gonna be alright here?"

I shrug. "Sure."

"Who's Jace?"

"Shut up, Simon."

"Byeeee," says Isabelle, waggling her fingers at me before closing my door.

"Seriously, who's Jace?"

"Izzy's adoptive brother. Listen," I tell him, "I'm gonna go now. I'll Skype with you when I'm back from wherever I end up going to? I just kinda wanna shower and change, maybe draw some."

"Sure." He shrugs. "Have fun, Clary."

"Thanks. And stop emailing me so much."

"You know I love you."

I shake my head at him and hang up the call.

* * *

"Are you ready?"

I turn around to face Isabelle, who's wearing a short red dress, tights, and knee-length boots with four-inch heels. Jesus Christ. She looks gorgeous, of course, but Jeeeeesus.

I'm wearing my favorite skinny jeans, brown boots, and a loose-fitted, long-sleeved black shirt that's a little bit big on me. My red hair stands out against the darkness of the shirt, which makes my green eyes pop. However, I look like a hobo next to Isabelle.

"You look cute," is all she says. "It's chilly-ish out. For summer, anyway."

It does feel chilly once we step out. Isabelle hails a cab. She's decided to start simple. We're gonna go watch a movie in a theater. Simple enough.

She says the movie will be in English, and I fall in love with Paris. Because seriously. They didn't have to.

But they did.

"So," Isabelle says. "Your boyf—I'm sorry, your _just friend_ —is kind of cute."

"Simon?"

"Mhmm."

"No."

"In a nerdy way," she adds. "But yeah. He's cute."

"He's Simon." I shrug. I've never really thought of Simon as attractive or anything. I don't know. I guess he is. But it's weird, like thinking your brother is attractive. So yeah. No.

"He's cute," she says, winking. "You've really never thought of dating him?"

"Nope."

"Have you ever thought of dating _anybody_?"

I think about this for a second. Sure, I recognize hot boys when I see them. I get nervous, too, because I'm a dork and I'm shy, so of course I get really paranoid about the way I look and crap when a boy walks past me—an attractive one, that is. But I've never thought about relationships as something I _need_ in my life. I've always thought that it would be nice, I guess, to have someone who gets you and gets to kiss you, sure, but it's never been a priority. I'm a bros over hoes kind of girl. Only it'd kind of be bros over bros, since all of my friends are guys, and that's kind of confusing. Oh well. Boys are also hoes now.

Anyway, the only guy I've ever thought of dating, I guess, would be Jordan Kyle. He's always been Maia Robert's boyfriend, but there was a brief period before we ended our sophomore year of high school in which they broke it off—they've always been in an on-again, off-again sort of relationship—and he started talking to me, mostly about art and music. I started to like him, but I suspect that this was a mix of his insanely good looks and charm. He was so, so nice. And I'm a sucker for anyone who likes art.

So I tell Isabelle about him. She asks for a physical description (eyes: hazel, hair: brown, muscular, tall, etc.) and decides that she approves. So, of course, when I tell her that my crush only lasted a month and died a week after he got back with his girlfriend, whom he's been with ever since, she looks pretty bummed out.

"I need to get you someone," she says. "I mean, you haven't even had your first kiss yet!" Something that she found out earlier and will _never_ let go, I might add.

"You're so dramatic." I roll my eyes, but it's true: I haven't. And I wish it wouldn't worry me, but it kind of does, especially when I surround myself with idiotic teenage boys that are always telling me to do them. God.

She shakes her head. "Seriously! I'm gonna teach you how to live."

I immediately think of _How I Met Your Mother_. Damn Simon and the stupidly good TV shows he makes me watch. Honestly. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"By taking you to one of Jace's stupid parties."

"So they're stupid?"

"They're nuts. You'll love them."

"I hate parties," I confess.

"Just give one a try," she pleads, giving me her puppy dog eyes.

I feel kind of guilty denying her, especially since I'm staying at her house for the summer, so I have no option but to nod. "Fine. But we leave when I want."

"Yay! You're the best."

"When's the party, anyway?"

"Friday."

I think about what I would be doing if I were in New York instead of here. I'd be going to Simon's gig on Friday. I'd be hanging out with obscene guys who talk about getting high, drunk, and laid. It's either that, or they talk about the meaning of life and make stupid jokes that they don't get.

There's no in between.

I'm glad I'm here.

"What about you?" I ask, steering the topic back to her. That's always safe. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

She laughs. "Oh, please. As if."

Did she just channel her inner Cher?

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have boyfriends. I date some guys, sure, and we have sex and stuff—you know, fun stuff—but they're not boyfriends. I never really care about any of them." She shrugs as if that's no big deal. Isabelle's kind of awesome. "I think love is pointless. Like, I love my brothers and my parents, but romantic love—I mean, what's the point of it?"

I don't really know what to say to her. I've never really thought about it, about there being a point to love. I think it's supposed to make your life better and more bearable, but I don't tell her that. I don't really know anything about love, anyway.

We make it to the theater in time. They're showing _The Breakfast Club_ , which is one of my favorites (and also one of Izzy's, so yay!). We get our snacks and go in, silent as the lights dim and the movie starts playing.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! xo_


	3. Sightseeing

_Hey, lovelies! I am so sorry that I haven't gotten to your reviews today; I plan on doing that as soon as possible, but I have tons of homework and am swamped, as I did absolutely nothing over break (school-wise, I mean). Regardless, I wanted to have a chapter up for you because these next few weeks are going to be stressful, what with finals + work + personal stuff, so I might not be able to post until the after my break begins, especially since my dealing with personal stuff involves procrastinating everything remotely important and staying in bed with my pajamas on watching comedy shows and eating junk food. (Side note: love is great but it is also painful as heckie when you don't have, say, alcohol to get you through it.)_

 _As always, thanks to my beta, IWriteNaked, because of your never-ending enthusiasm towards this story and your support through these challenging timez. You're always there when I need you, and it means the world. Thanks to spikeyhairgood, because you made me cry in the middle of the airport today even though you don't know, and because you brought things to perspective when I needed to see them in a different way. Thanks to DeathCabForMari, for sharing her wisdom and helping me understand things better. I was bawling when we were talking earlier and people were looking at me weird, but thank you. I know I've missed people, but I haven't slept in like 30 hours and I am exhausted as heck, so I apologize and I love you all!_

 _Anywayyy, I hope my American readers had a lovely Thanksgiving break, and I hope that you guys like this chapter!_

* * *

By the time we made it back to the house last night, it was already midnight, and Maryse was back from work and sleeping, so I couldn't meet her. Shame. Jace was out until two, and Isabelle and I were there to greet him when he came in. He was drunk. Really drunk. I was too short to help carry him up the stairs, though, so I supervised Isabelle and Alec's job of laying him down on the bed and taking off his shirt. And I'm sure there was a lot of embarrassing blushing going on from my part.

Now it's morning, and Isabelle is ranting about how we should totally go out again. I agree, because I love Paris, and because I want to go out before my art classes begin and I'm swamped with work for that. Besides, Isabelle's fun. Especially when no boy talk is involved.

"Alec and Magnus are babysitting Max," Isabelle tells me, "and I've managed to get Jace on board with going out today. So it'll be the three of us."

Oh boy. "Perfect."

"Mom should be back at around one for lunch, 'cause she said she didn't want to miss you before you went out."

"That's in ten minutes."

"You might wanna shower."

I groan and drag myself back into my bedroom, locking the door. I'm a little bit paranoid about people walking in on me without me knowing about first. I guess you can say surprises aren't really my favorite things in the world.

After my shower, I put on black skinny jeans and a light blue sweater. I go over to Isabelle's room and lie down on her bed. I'm not the kind of person who usually does this, but she made it clear that I could do whatever I wanted in her room. Whatever. It was kind of weird.

I left my sketchpad here before I went to shower, so I pick it up and start sketching a bookcase. I know, not very original, but I'm stuck in a room and I'm facing one, so whatever.

There's a light knock on Isabelle's door. A woman in her forties—Maryse Lightwood, no doubt—is wearing a pantsuit and a polite (but tired) smile. She introduces herself as Maryse and tells me that she wanted to stop by during her lunch break to finally meet me. It's weird, how unsupervised these kids live. At home, Mom questions me for thirty minutes before letting me to go Eric's biweekly poetry readings at the café down the street from our apartment. Honestly.

"If you need anything," says Maryse, "let me know."

"Thank you," I say, giving her a smile.

"I hope the boys haven't been giving you much trouble."

"She means Jace," clarifies Isabelle. "And Max, sometimes."

I shake my head. "They've all been really nice."

"Good." She nods. "Well, I should be heading back. I have a meeting in an hour. I'll see you tomorrow, hopefully."

I nod and watch as Maryse leaves. Her interactions with Isabelle are kind of stiff and professional, but I can tell there's real affection there. Some people are just not used to showing it.

There's another knock on Izzy's door. It's a quick one. I don't look up, figuring it's just Maryse going to ask Isabelle a question, but Isabelle groans right before I feel a shift in the weight of the mattress. I look and see Jace lying down on his back in front of me. Amazing. Of course.

Thankfully, he's wearing a shirt.

"So, when do we leave?" he asks.

"In an hour, when Magnus and Alec come back from getting Max." Isabelle doesn't look up from her computer. "Go get dressed or something."

He shakes his head. "I could go naked."

"Please don't," she says.

"What do you think, Clary?" He looks over at me, ignoring Isabelle. "Should I go naked?"

"I second Isabelle's reply to that." I try not to think about him naked. I also try not to blush. I should probably try to doodle instead of interacting with him.

He stands up. "You two are no fun."

"We're plenty of fun. We're just not insane."

"Thank you," he says, taking a bow. Before either one of us can say anything, he leaves.

"He's just as frustrating as you," I tell Isabelle.

"Hey!"

"Just saying."

She chucks an eraser at me. I grin.

"I needed this for my sketch. Thanks."

She glares at me, and I give her a smile.

We're gonna have fun.

* * *

Isabelle's scared of heights.

I wasn't expecting it, of course. Isabelle looks fearless; she doesn't seem to be scared of anything. The confidence she carries herself with eradicates any question you may have about her fears. She doesn't have any.

Or so I thought.

"So you have to go with Jace," she says, making a face. "I'll walk around and meet you back here."

Awesome, I tell her, because what else is there to say? I want to go to the Eiffel Tower.

But I don't know Jace.

Is he anything like Simon's friends? He doesn't seem like it. Jace is more of a quiet kind of guy, I notice as we walk together to the entrance. He's attractive, no doubt, and he knows it. He has confidence—cockiness, even—but he's still quiet. Reserved. At least he won't annoy me to death or try to have sex with me like Simon's stupid friends.

Just kidding. I love Simon's friends. Sort of.

"How long has she been scared of heights?" I ask. I admire silence, sure, but Simon doesn't, and I've been spending too much time with him to be quiet for long.

He shrugs. "I think maybe since before I started living with them. It's been like that as long as I can remember."

"When did you?" I want to punch myself for asking, but I keep going. "Move in with them, I mean."

"When I was ten." He's quiet, his hands on the pockets of his leather jacket. We walk in silence. "How long are you gonna be here for, anyway?"

"Three months," I pipe up.

"I'm moving away this year," Jace tells me. "College. I'm going to Massachusetts, so that should be fun."

"Wow," I say. "That sounds fun." I want to ask him if he's scared of leaving his family behind, but Jace, much like Izzy, appears to be fearless. I keep going, giving him a smile.

I'll ask him someday.

I notice that he has a headphone in his ear, much like me. We're both listening to music. See, I don't know about him, but it's become a habit for me. People do it way too much in New York, and I love music, so I love to walk and listen to music and get lost in that feeling like there's a soundtrack to my life and only I can make it. It's kind of great.

A song by Bastille is playing as Jace pays for both of our tickets. Isabelle gave him enough money for two. My protests, as per usual, meant nothing to her. I said I was gonna pay for dinner. She gave me this _of course you are_ look that makes me wonder if we're gonna have an argument again wherever we end up going to eat. Awesome.

"Have you been here before?"

"To the Eiffel Tower?" He sounds amused. "Yeah, I've been here. In case you haven't noticed, I live in Paris. Also, girls love it when you bring them here." He nods at me as if I'm an example. I want to scoff, but I'm too stunned to do anything but watch as he takes the change and shoves it in his pocket.

"I'm sure that it'd get tiresome after a while if I lived here."

"You'd be surprised."

"I know myself pretty well," I say to him. "And I'm sure I'd be bored of this if I lived here and walked past it a couple of times a week. Trust me."

"Okaaaay."

I made things awkward, but I don't care. He's an ass, generalizing, believing that, of course, EVERY SINGLE GIRL in the HISTORY of the UNIVERSE is going to bow down to him when he brings her to the Eiffel Tower. Of course. That's THE way to get laid. Boys, TAKE NOTE.

I hate him.

I don't.

But I wish I could know him enough to say that without people arguing that I don't know him—one of those people being myself. Because, well, a few minutes ago, he was _interesting_ and _attractive_ , and now I want to roll my eyes at him and never ask him anything related to women ever.

We take the elevator to the top of the tower. It's kind of terrifying—it happens really fast, and suddenly I'm up there, looking at the little people and the little cars and the sky that seems at arm's reach. It's sort of beautiful. I mean, yeah, okay, I live in New York City and have been to the Empire State Building, but this is different. Foreign. It's seeing a different culture, different people. A different city.

I kind of love it.

"The view's great, huh?"

The sun sets kind of late, so it's still really bright out, even though it's 5:30pm. It makes the view a little less artistically beautiful, but it's still gorgeous

"It'd be breathtaking at night, I bet." I hate the longing that settles in my voice, but it's true. I've seen pictures, and if the view during the day amazes me, I can't wait to see it at night.

If I get to, anyway.

"We can bring you back," Jace says. He's looking out into the distance, looking at the patches of green and the buildings. "Just, you know, pay your own ticket that time."

"Hilarious, Jace." I resist the urge to smack his arm. I'm not with my friends. He's not familiar.

And yet.

He kind of feels that way. But maybe it's the fact that we're living under the same roof. It's kind of like he's my brother, in a way.

No. That's not right.

I refuse to be frustrated. I look at the view and inhale the sweet air, and then I take pictures using my camera, and some using my phone, and we stay up there for twenty minutes before deciding to go back down. Jace texts Izzy—she's taking us to a phone carrier to get me a prepaid phone—and we descend. I say goodbye to the Eiffel Tower.

For now, anyway.

* * *

As expected, we argue at the café we go to. However, I win. We decide to do rock-paper-scissors, and I win _that_ , so I'll end up paying the bill.

Isabelle orders for me, thank god. I think I could've handled it (well, I would've butchered the pronunciation, but still), but it was nice to have her there to help me out. I do need to get my shit together, though.

"So, Clary," Jace says. "How's New York?"

"We moved away a while ago. Three years, I think it's been. He misses it," she says. "A lot."

"I didn't know about you living there."

"We moved around a lot when my parents were still together," Isabelle says. So, that's why there was no Mr. Lightwood around. Huh. That explains some stuff.

"To answer your question," I say, refusing to let this get weird by the mention of a divorced couple, "New York's awesome. I miss it already. I love Paris, but New York is home."

He nods. "I love New York. I wish I could end up living there again."

"I'm sure Massachusetts will be awesome," I say.

"You told her about MIT?"

"Just that I'd be studying in Massachusetts."

"Alec'll be going to NYU, and Magnus to Pratt, so I'll be visiting New York a lot." She bumps my shoulder.

"That sounds awesome." I try to sound enthusiastic, but I'm kind of tired. And college talk stresses me out.

I don't know what I want to do with my life. I know I love art, and I want to use my love for it to do something that won't bore me to death every day, but I don't know how to get there. So I don't like to talk about college. I don't.

"Did Isabelle take you to the theater a couple of blocks away from here yet?"

She nods. Good, 'cause I have no idea where we are right now. " _The Breakfast Club_ was playing."

Jace whistles appreciatively. "Sweet."

"So, Jace," she goes on, "any girls lately?"

He groans. I raise an eyebrow, prompting him to explain. "Whenever Isabelle's bored, which is basically always, she tries to set me up. She says that, if I meet the right girl, I'll have a girlfriend. And a girlfriend would equal someone for Izzy to torture, which she's sort of into, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"She hasn't—"

"Anyway," Jace continues, "I don't do girlfriends. She knows it. I know it. The world knows it. Now you know it, too. So, of course, it's the one thing in the universe she bugs me about."

"Just like me and boys. Specifically Simon."

"You two would be adorable. You'd have the cutest, dorkiest babies," she insists. I roll my eyes.

"We're best friends." I turn to Jace. "You don't need a girlfriend right now, anyway." I don't know why, but speaking to him directly makes me feel nervous—in a good way, I think. Kind of like a rush. "You're going off to college in a different continent."

"Thank you," he says, giving Izzy an _I told you so_ look. Oh my god, they're twelve.

Our food gets here. I'm drinking ginger ale (my obsession) and eating steak and fries. We order a chocolate cake to split for dessert, and then I pay the bill.

We walk around in the direction of the house—or so I think, anyway. I have no clue as to where we're going, but I either follow them or get lost. Their conversation is too quick for me to follow—they're bantering about something, but I can't tell what. I keep going, my feet hurting slightly. I'm used to walking a lot, but I haven't done it in a couple of weeks, since I didn't go out much due to finals and crap.

"—just saying, he's old enough to take care of himself." Isabelle turns to me. "What do you think, Clary?"

"What?" Shit.

"Is Max old enough to take care of himself?"

"He's nine, Izzy. I'm gonna go with no."

Isabelle, I've gathered, hates babysitting Max. She hates kids. She has told me time and time again that, although babies are cute from a distance and she might have one of her own someday, she despises kids with the fire of a thousand suns right now. They complain and demand and take and take and take without giving, and it pisses her off to no end. I try to explain that it's basically their job to be annoying as fuck, but she still hates kids. Rightfully. (I also kind of hate kids. Except they give me puppy dog eyes, and then I'm a goner.)

She's looking for ways to get out of babysitting on Saturday. Maryse has some sort of work dinner thing, which means Isabelle has to stay and look after her little brother, because it's date night for Magnus and Alec, and Jace isn't going to be around. (Very ominous, I know. He's so weird. He's never around, though I suspect he's just gonna be having sex somewhere with someone. He seems like that kind of guy.)

We make it to the house an hour after we leave the little café we ate in. It was fun. Even though it was, you know, sort of weird to hang out with Jace and eat with him and stuff, especially since I don't know him and he's new in my life, it was still fun. He's kind of cool. Cocky and kind of obnoxious, but cool nonetheless.

I hope he takes me back to the Eiffel Tower.

I email Simon and Mom back to let them know that I'm not dead. I take a quick shower, change into my pajamas, and lie down on the most comfortable bed in the whole entire universe, loving the way the soft sheets feel against my exhausted self.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! X_


	4. Finding Nemo

_Hi, lovelies! I'm in the middle of taking a study break (finals week has been Not Fun, but it's over tomorrow morning, and 48 hours after that I'll be home with my puppies and my BED and homemade food!), so I thought I'd update right now, because I just know I'm gonna forget once I'm home (I need like ten thousand hours of sleep and cuddles for days and I have two fluffy children waiting to watch Netflix with me). Sorry that I'm rambling, but I got the worst sleep ever last night and came straight to my desk to study after waking up, so I'm a little brain dead. And sad bc bad dreams._

 _Anyway, thanks to my beta, IWriteNaked, for being awesome and supporting the OTP always. Thanks to DeathCabForMari for saying that I will always be the man in my relationships (bc it's true) and for being so lovely. Thanks to spikeyhairgood for the loveliest Christmas present EVER and for being so supportive and listening to me when I'm not feeling well. Thanks to LuckyAsLockhart (you were right about the thing) and to clarissa adele herondale for being like? the cutest person? Anyway I love you guys a lot a lot._

 _I hope you guys like this chapter, and thank you so much for reading! :)_

* * *

We were going out tonight. _Were_. Until Magnus and Alec announced that they were staying at Magnus's apartment for their two-year anniversary, and Izzy, Jace, and I got stuck babysitting Max. Yay.

I mean, Max is a great kid. He loves some of the comic books I brought with me and asked me to borrow some of them on my first official night here. He's pretty cool, like a younger version of Simon. It kind of makes me wish the real Simon were here.

But he's not. We're watching _Finding Nemo_ , more for my sake than for Max's. _Finding Nemo_ is pretty much the best movie. It's so cute. And Ellen DeGeneres. Like, you can't beat that.

We're all pretty engrossed in it—even Jace, who walked in ten minutes late, saw what was playing on the TV, and plopped down on the couch next to Max.

"Nemo's dad is so frustrating," Jace comments. "I mean, I know his kid's lost and all, but he's hanging out with Dory, who's pretty damn cool, and he's just whining about it."

"Don't curse in front of Max," Isabelle chides.

"I don't know," I reply. "His kid decided to be a little…something, which was probably very frustrating for him. His kid could've been eaten. Or dead. Seriously, Nemo's supposed to be, like, a kid. When did little kids get insanely rebellious? And, even though it's not her fault, Dory's kind of annoying. You know, with the situation."

"Keep it down," Max says.

Jace rolls his eyes. "Maybe I should sit next to Clary."

"Maybe you should be quiet," Isabelle replies.

"You guys are the worst," Max comments.

My phone, the one we got after we went to the Eiffel Tower, vibrates. Jace programmed his number in—his name is _Hot Piece of Ass_ , which is too precious for me to change—and I guess he wants to continue our conversation through here.

 **Jace** _: I get what you're saying. I really do. Nemo decided to be a little shit and run away. He could be dead. It's horrible. And, also, you'd be surprised at how rebellious little kids are. I guess, but he's rude to her when all she does is try to help. Also, he was overprotective, which was probably why Nemo touched the butt._

I try not to laugh out loud at the last part as I type back. _I see your point about the overprotectiveness, but Nemo's, like, six. Honestly. He's rude, but only because he's going crazy! He's trying to figure out whether the only person that matters to him is dead or not. That's depressing and horrible. But yeah, he was rude. I like Dory. Nemo did touch the butt. The butt called to him. The butt seduced a six-year-old clownfish._

I look over to see if the last part of my text has any reaction. He smirks and starts typing, which is good. I hate the fact that I need to see his reaction to some of the things I say. It's like, seriously. What the hell?

 **Jace** _: Six-year-old kids are the most rebellious of them all. They're going to school. Spending time by themselves. They're like, "I don't need no parents." It's wild. They're wild. I know. I guess it's kind of sad. Dory's my favorite. And wow, what a pedophilic butt._

I shake my head, unable to help the smile that creeps onto my face. _Did you just try to make six-year-olds sound ghetto? Because it worked. It so totally worked. It's REALLY sad. Dory's fantastic, though, of course, a little bit annoying. Oh my god. I can't think of anything to say to that._

In the movie, Nemo just tried to escape the tank for the first time. Didn't turn out too well. Whoops.

 **Jace** _: Six-year-olds are the ghettoest of all humans. I'm glad you have that image in your mind. It is sad, and Dory's not annoying. She's cool. And good. The pedophilic butt has left you speechless._

I try to focus on the movie, but replying to Jace's oh-so-wonderful text requires my undivided attention. This conversation, had it been done in person rather than by text, would've been way duller. And way less graphic. You know, for Max's benefit.

I type as quickly as I can. _Now they are, anyway. They used to be cute and innocent and a little bit sassy, but now they're full on the sassiest ever. I'm imagining thug little shits walking around the house. And I like Dory! She's just frustrating. We've been over this, dude. And yes. Yes it has._

Max seems to be enjoying the movie. His eyes are lit up in happiness, and he pushes up his glasses (they're tilted, so they keep falling off) every two seconds. It's kind of cute. Isabelle, on the other hand, has stopped watching the movie and is now watching me. And Jace. Texting. Oh boy. She's gonna think I like him. Oh god. I know that look. She's giving me a look, one that says _I knew this would happen._ Seriously, she needs to not. We're just texting. And discussing pedophilic butts and ghetto children. This is a completely normal conversation.

 **Jace** _: Children are evil. Never forget. Not that ghetto equals evil, but they're not the cute innocents you were imagining. Best case scenario, they're ghetto. Aka cool. But that's only a couple of them. Thug little shits. Jesus Christ. Yeah, yeah. And good. That was its purpose._

I smile at his message. I don't like this feeling, the feeling that I'm actually starting to like socializing with a boy I barely know. I have nothing against boys, but I came here for my art, maybe to make a friend or two. But I can't have feelings for him. No. Nope. I'm getting ahead of myself, true, but I just can't let it happen. I have to think ahead.

I text him back anyway.

* * *

After _Finding Nemo_ ends, we decide to play a board game. More specifically, we decide to play Life.

As far as board games go, this isn't exactly my favorite, but I'm a doctor with a husband and two kids, so I'm not doing too shabby.

"This sucks," Isabelle mutters. Unlike me, she hasn't been doing too well. She's unemployed, has no family, and is enrolled in night school. She hates it.

Jace, who is married, childless, and a lawyer, snorts. "You're living the dream. I'm _married_."

"Yeah," Izzy says. "But I wanna be married. And I wanna have children." She turns to me. "You suck."

Max, who is also married and has three children, rolls his eyes. "Can we just keep going?"

I spin the roulette. Eight. Isabelle groans at my high number and puts her head on her on her hands. "I hate you," she proclaims.

I smirk. I got paid and sued Jace. It was a good turn.

"Why did you sue me?" he asks, offended.

"I can't sue Max, and Izzy's in the middle of a crisis. You were my only other choice."

"I'm flattered."

I roll my eyes and watch as Max has yet another baby. Jesus Christ. This kid and his wife are machines.

My iPod makes a chiming noise—new notification, yay!—and I read to see what it is. A new Facebook message from Simon. Not surprised.

 **Simon** : What up, C Fray?

I smile and unlock my screen, typing fast so I can still keep up with the game. _Playing the game of Life. What about you?_

"It's your turn," Izzy says. "Quit flirting with your boyfriend and get on it."

"He's not—"

"—your boyfriend. My mistake. Play the game, Fray."

"Don't pressure me, Lightwood."

She tsks me. "Don't speak like that to your elders."

"I will if my elders are losers."

She gasps. "How dare you?"

I smile and play, spinning the roulette. Ten.

I win the game. Well, at least it seems like I'm winning, anyway. I'm at the retirement home and all.

My phone chimes; it's another message from Simon.

 **Simon** : Nice. Don't you hate that game? I'm still practicing with the band. It's 4pm. We're taking our break, and Eric is reading his next poem to us. Kill. Me.

I let out a giggle before replying. _Oh god. It has loins in it, right?! And I do hate this game, but it's the only one they have with no missing pieces, and I'm having fun/kicking ass. The usual. :D_

"Earth to Claaaaaary!" Izzy snaps her fingers in front of my face.

"What?"

"Jace stole a life card from you."

"Payback's a bitch." He's grinning. Damn, why is he so hot?! And, more importantly, why did he steal one of my life cards from me?

Think professional thoughts, Clary. Art school. College. Jobs. Experience. _Artsy_ experience. That's why you're here.

"I hate you." I fake a glare.

He wins the game.

We send Max to bed just before eleven and clean up. Jace and I are doing the dishes while Isabelle reads Max a chapter or two from _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_. The kid has good taste.

"You're so gonna pay for that life tile you stole," I tell Jace with a grin.

"Oh, yeah?" His eyes have a spark in them. "What's my punishment?"

God, I hate boys like him. He knows he can make me feel weak in the knees with a look, and he's using it. But I force myself to stand up straight and speak with a clear voice, even when all my thoughts are elsewhere—related to him, of course. "Why pick now? I have three months. I'll pick when you're least expecting it."

"You're evil," he says, handing me a bowl for me to dry.

I shrug. "I take pride in it."

He grins and hands me a plate. "Excited about the party?"

"Not really. I've never been to a party, but they don't seem like my thing."

"Isabelle said she'd take you home if you don't like it, right?"

I nod. I can't explain to him that, though I don't frown upon partying, I'd rather spend my time listening to music or reading or drawing, or simply hanging out with them—pretty much doing anything but going out to party.

"You'll be fine," he assures me, sounding kind of bored. Either that, or matter-of-fact. I can't tell. "And, if you're not, just tell Izzy. Or…" He hesitates. "I guess you can tell me, too."

I roll my eyes. He makes it sound like I'm a pain in the ass. "Thanks."

"I mean it."

"And I thanked you for it." Annoyance tints my voice, but I can't help it. If he doesn't like an idea, then why, for the love of god, would he suggest it?

"I go to a lot of parties," he says. "Leaving early from one wouldn't kill me. Got it?"

I nod, my cheeks flaming. It's weird, how he seems to know what my reactions mean.

We finish up in the kitchen and make our way into our separate bedrooms. His is on the other side of the stairs, in front of Max's. I give him an awkward wave before going into my room.

I continue talking to Simon until I'm too tired to. I also send my mom one of those "I'm alive and well" emails she needs to help her sleep at night before I go to bed.

Once I lie down, though, eyes closed and lights off, I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Jace—which is ridiculous, I know, but my life is barely exciting aside from the fact that I'm in Paris—and wondering what would happen if I started to like him. Hypothetically.

It'd be a terrible idea, of course. Isabelle would kill me. I'd have to go home early. Plus, Jace is clearly experienced, and I'm not; I'd be a terrible kisser, and an even worse girlfriend. I've never wanted a summer romance, and I am _not_ about to start wanting one now.

I'm not used to the quiet, especially not with my mind being so damn loud. Usually, cars are honking or there's some sort of whirring sound from my AC, but there's nothing tonight. I get my iPod and make a playlist, hitting shuffle once I'm done. My mom used to tell me when I was about eleven that listening to music while sleeping reduces the amount of sleep you get, because your brain stays awake, so you end up feeling more tired. I don't care, though, and haven't checked if that's true.

An instrumental song starts playing, and I will myself to relax. I have to sleep. I let myself imagine all the possibilities. There's me. And Jace. And a kiss. And I'm not bad at it.

Oh god. Please no.

Fuck.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! X_


	5. The Party

_HI. It's officially 2016 here, and I wanted to get this up yesterday, but I ended up going to see the new Star Wars movie (which was! so fantastic I've never seen any of them but I'm officially watching them all!) and skyping my boyfriend (and also watching Heroes and drinking wine, but shhh), so I forgot and figured that this would also be cool! First update of the year! I'm sorry for my absence, but I haven't been home in four months and have been recovering from finals week, running errands for my mom, and meeting up with my family/close friends. One of my resolutions is to write more, but next semester is going to be busy (I'm taking 17 credits and working 15-19 hours a week, maybe more if I get a job as a tutor). HOWEVER, this story is still important to me, so I'm definitely gonna be finishing it. ALSO: I got accepted into my university's Honors College, so that was pretty cool, especially since I was absolutely terrified of failing at college. I'm a little tipsy so I might rant, but anyway: this has been a crazy year for me. It kind of feels like it's been split into two halves. But, honestly, it's maybe been my best year yet. I've had some pretty bad moments, but I look back at 2015 and see the year I got into college, got to go to Europe, finally moved out, got a job, kicked ass at college, got to know (and meet! and stay with!) one of my favorite people, and really started to take care of myself. It had its bad moments, but, overall, 2015 was a pretty good year._

 _If y'all didn't have a good 2k15, I'm very sorry. I hope that 2k16 will be your year, and, if it isn't, then I hope that your year comes soon, because you're all lovely people who deserve the best. I've said this before (I'm pretty sure but idk I'm a lil bit forgetful), but I'll say it again: if you ever, ever need someone to talk to, feel absolutely free to message me. It doesn't matter if we've never spoken before. Sometimes it just feels good to let it all out. If you need some advice, hit me up. Seriously. You should never have to go through anything alone, and I'll be glad to help out in any way I can._

 _Thanks to my lovely beta, IWriteNaked, for being such an amazing beta and (girl)friend and just absolutely everything. I love you so so much and this'll be like our second (third? I'm so tipsy oh god) year of friendship and I can't wait. Thanks to DeathCabForMari, because you're the real MVP and you've read so many of my papers and supported me and helped me through this first semester and I am beyond grateful for your wisdom and friendship. Thanks to clarissa adele herondale, for being so wonderful and kind and strong. I hope this year is better to you and I know you can make it through anything. Thanks to spikeyhairgood for being such a lovely friend and listening to me cry ten times a day and for sending me such a wonderful Christmas present like honestly ily that was fantastic and I showed it off to bae the second we skyped. You're lovely. Thanks to LuckyAsLockhart, because I know that I've been absent and overall a terrible friend lately, but you've been wonderful and supportive and I hope that I get my crap together soon and we get to catch up, because I miss and love you. Sorry if I miss anyone I'm literally typing with my eyes closed right now bc I'm effed._

 _ANYWAY. I'll try to reply to all of your reviews for chapter 4 tonight, but I wanted to get this up now just in case I crash. Thank you so much for your support this past year, both with MS and THATH. I'm infinitely grateful for you._

 _Hope you enjoy this chapter! And Happy New Year!_

* * *

I don't know how long it took me to fall asleep after that stupid image popped into my head, but it's almost one in the afternoon when I wake up.

I groan and get up, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. Not disoriented, though. I'm mostly scared to run into Jace, to be honest.

See, I always thought it'd take a lot for a guy to interest me. Not because I think I'm the shit or anything, but because I'm more focused on other aspects of my life, such as school, art, my friends (though that's mostly Simon, but he takes up a lot of my time), my family, and working at Luke's bookstore. (He's a friend of my mom's, but I have a feeling that Luke has a crush on her. He gets all flushed when she comes into the store, or when he's over at our apartment. It's kind of cute; I hope he's keeping her company.) Anyway, boys haven't been my priority since, like, middle school.

Until now, anyway.

Because now, I decide to take a shower so I have extra time to avoid Jace. This is ridiculous. Most people would kill to run into their crushes, but not me. Nope. I hide like a coward, even though Jace hasn't done anything extraordinary. He 's been friendly, but only sometimes. He doesn't talk to me outside of when we hang out, which is mostly when we babysit Max or hang out with Izzy.

So why is this happening to me?

I put on some jeans and a white long-sleeve. No shoes, just socks.

"Perfect" is the first thing Isabelle says when she sees me.

"Why?" I eye her warily.

"You're dressed. We're going shopping."

"Okay? What for?"

"Party clothes. Like I said, you need a boy in your life."

Oh, no. "Izzy, I don't need—" The smell of food makes me stop dead in my tracks as we go down the stairs. "Who's cooking?"

"Alec and Jace. We all woke up late."

Sure enough, there they are. They're still in their pajamas—I'm assuming Alec took a nap when he got here this morning after spending the night at Magnus's or something.

"What're you making?" I sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

"Good morning to you too," says Jace. Oh no. His voice makes my stomach flutter. I feel like I'm gonna be sick; I'm suddenly not hungry anymore. I hate this. This is the worst kind of feeling ever. It's like whenever I have to do a presentation, and I feel like my stomach is empty and full of creatures all at once, and I feel lightheaded and can't concentrate.

"Yeah, yeah." At least I'm able to carry a normal conversation with him. Thank god. "What do you have for me?"

"Pancakes. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Take your pick."

I've been in love with bacon ever since I tried it at the age of eleven when I stayed over at Luke's. (My mom was on a business trip. She doesn't really buy bacon, because she doesn't like it, but I've made her get some for me ever since that fateful morning.)

"This is amazing."

"I know," he says.

I roll my eyes at his reply and serve myself some bacon and pancakes. Yay! Food! Even though I'm not as hungry now (thanks to his idiotic presence), I make myself eat. It's good, of course, and I feel even better knowing that he made it.

What is wrong with me?

"Where's the syrup?" I ask.

Alec passes it to me. "Did you just wake up?"

"About half an hour ago," I reply. "I took a shower. Izzy and I are going shopping." It occurs to me that I feel insanely comfortable talking to him, even though he's the family member I've least interacted with since I got here. Well, him and Maryse, anyway. Also, it's come to my attention that I don't really sound enthusiastic about shopping. I can tell by the look on Isabelle's face.

"Sounds exciting," Jace comments. He knows I'm not-so-secretly dreading this.

"It will be," Izzy says, fully aware of Jace's teasing. He can somehow tell to what level I'm loathing the idea of spending hours stuck in a mall with Isabelle. "I'm gonna make Clary look the hottest she's ever looked."

"You've only known me for, like, four days," I point out.

She waves me off. "Details."

"Why the intense shopping?" Alec asks. "It's just a party."

"I wanna get Clary a summer boyfriend." She grins. It's kind of scary, to be quite honest. "I mean, she's never had a boyfriend, so this'll be good practice."

Oh.

My.

God.

She didn't.

Oh, but she did.

I wish I could inconspicuously glare at her, because, oh my god, she's ruining my life. I don't know why, because the whole not having a boyfriend thing has always felt like an achievement, but she somehow makes it sound like something I should be—and suddenly am—embarrassed about. This sucks.

Whyyyyy?

I'm pretty sure my cheeks are as red as my hair. Fuck me. "I don't want one." At least I don't think I do. "I've told you this."

"And I've told you that you're missing out on great shit."

"Awesome."

"I'll go get my stuff," she says, finishing off her glass of orange juice. She's already finished eating, somehow. "We're leaving in ten."

I watch as she puts her plate on the sink and walks upstairs. What's her deal today?

"She's like that with people," Jace says to me. "You'll get used to it."

"She's intense."

The boys laugh. "That's one way to put it," Alec says. "God, I'm still tired. We got no sleep last night."

"Thanks for that lovely image." Jace makes a face.

"We stayed up all night watching _movies_ , you pervert."

"By _movies_ , do you mean _porn_?"

I almost choke on a piece of bacon, and Alec is red as an apple. "That," he says, "is none of your business."

Oh my GOD.

"I'm gonna nap," he says, leaving me alone with Jace.

Amazing.

"Remember what I told you," he says to me casually.

"About what?"

"The party. Isabelle."

I nod. "Thanks again." This time, I mean it.

"Stop thanking me. I just don't want you to end up in a ditch somewhere just because you feel bad for bothering Izzy. Got it?"

Basically, he's clearing his conscience and doesn't actually like me, but wants to make sure that my demise is not his fault. Great. Fantastic. Why do I feel like my stomach dropped a little bit? "Good to know." I put my plate on top of Izzy's. I'd normally do the dishes, but Jace can do them. "I'm gonna be late."

Crush = over.

The air is warm and welcoming outside. I changed into a short-sleeved, peach-colored t-shirt, kept the jeans, and put on my ancient, slightly beat up Converse.

"Are you okay?" Izzy asks. We've been walking for ten minutes after the cab dropped us off.

"Why do you ask?"

She shrugs. "You seem, I don't know, different. Did the guys say something?"

I shake Jace's words away from my mind as I shake my head. "Nope."

"Okaaaay." She doesn't stay silent for long. "Would you be cool with wearing a dress or skirt? To the party, I mean."

Unlike Isabelle, I do not spend my life agonizing over unimportant details such as this one. Therefore, party clothes haven't really been on my mind.

"Sure." _It's just one night,_ I remind myself. Just. One. Night.

She claps and gives me a smile. "I'm so glad you're here! We're gonna have so much fun this summer."

The thing is, I don't doubt that. I mean, yeah, okay, Isabelle's kind of nuts when it comes to boys, parties, and clothes, but maybe that's good. Like, maybe I need someone to balance me out or whatever. Maybe I need a brand new social life for the summer.

Simon's gonna go ballistic when I tell him about this.

We find ourselves at a mall; all of the stores on the streets didn't really "speak" to Isabelle. She, like I said, is kind of crazy.

"Which store do we go to?" she asks, her eyes shining. The mall's kind of like her sanctuary, I think.

"Izzy, I have literally never been here before in my entire life. How am I supposed to know?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Don't be such a smart ass. It was a rhetorical question."

I follow her to the second floor. She seems to know exactly where she's going now, which is good. She teaches me the French word for store ( _magasin_ , much to my disbelief, because what are magazines called, then?!) and guides me to a store too quickly for me to catch its name.

Holy Jesus Christ.

The store is huge, full of gorgeous clothes. One of the ladies working there, Sophie, starts chatting with Isabelle right away as if they're old friends. They probably are, taking into consideration Isabelle's addiction to clothes and the probability that she's been into this store about a billion times in the amount of time she's been living in Paris.

"Okay, so there are some discounts," Isabelle says. "And I have a membership card, so we're good."

"Do you know her?"

"Who? Sophie?" She says her name with an accent. Weird. "Yeah. She, uh, went out with Jace—only that's not really an accurate term—for a while, and we used to go to school together."

"Oh." Despite being over my tiny crush on Jace, my stomach feels unsettled at the mention of Sophie having anything more than a friendship with Jace. Especially because she's gorgeous.

Oh, no.

Izzy gets me a leather skirt, a leather dress, and a couple of other skirts/dresses/shirts to try on. We go into the dressing room, and I feel like I'm gonna die. I hate trying on clothes.

This sucks. Big, hairy balls.

I try on the leather skirt, leaving on the shirt I'm wearing. It's decent enough, I guess, but I'd rather not wear it—especially not since I'll have to find a shirt to match it, and I don't think I have that kind of energy. Isabelle agrees; she says I need something tighter. Of course.

I try on a turquoise-colored dress. It makes me look like I have boobs, but the skirt is too loose for Isabelle's taste. This is corroborated when I show it to her and she shakes her head.

"Try on the leather dress," she says, shooing me back into the dressing room. Jesus.

I shrug this dress off and put on the leather one. I don't have too much difficulty putting that one on, but it _is_ significantly tighter than the other two.

She's gonna make me buy it.

It's definitely tight-fitted; it hugs my (few) curves and makes me look like I have boobs, just like the other dress. It makes my red stand out against the dark color of the fabric, and it also makes my eyes look greener. The leather adds an edgy touch to it, and I…kinda look good.

I know she's going to make me buy it. Izzy loves leather.

She squeals when she sees me. Another lady turns around to look at her, probably wondering what all the fuss is about, and Isabelle literally could not care less about the lady who eyes her as if she's nuts. She's seen—and loved—what I'm wearing. I'm her sole focus.

Oh god.

"I love it. Tell me you love it."

I sigh. "I love it."

"You're getting it."

I don't try the rest of the stuff on, now that I've decided on the dress. I hand the other clothes to the lady by the entrance of the dressing rooms and go up to pay for the dress.

Now I just need to look for shoes.

* * *

By the time we made it back to the house, it was already almost six o'clock in the afternoon. Isabelle let me take an hour-long nap while she started getting ready. Thank god.

Now I'm up and knocking on her door. She opens it to reveal that she's in the process of curling the ends of her hair. She's wearing her dress, which is gold and shiny and tight and so very _Isabelle_ that it makes me smile.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower and Skype with Simon before we get started."

She waves me off without complaining, which is as close to a sign of approval as I'm gonna get from her. I send Simon a Facebook message telling him that our video chat'll begin in thirty minutes.

Once the shower (15 minutes—record time) is out of the way, I blow dry/brush my hair (10 minutes). I put on a shirt and some shorts, finding myself a minute early to my Skype session.

"Hey!" says Simon, wearing his glasses and a smile on his face. "What're you up to, stranger?"

"Getting ready to party." I roll my eyes. "You're still performing tonight, right?"

He nods. "I wish you could come."

"The whole currently in different continents thing is sort of a huge pain in the ass. Has the band improved?"

"Nope. We still suck."

I let out a string of laughter. "I wish I didn't have to miss it, Si."

"I know. How's Paris?"

"Gorgeous. How's home?"

His eyes light up at the last word. "It's still amazing and busy and crowded, and it misses you."

I'm about to say something back when someone knocks on my door.

"Hold that thought," I tell Simon. "Come in!"

Jace stands at my door, facing me. For some weird reason unbeknownst to me, he makes my feel stomach feel like the battlefield in some sort of butterfly war.

"What's up?" I try to sound casual.

"Have you heard from Alec? He's supposed to babysit, but it's almost eight-thirty and he's still not here."

I frown. "He was here this morning." _But you know that_. "Maybe he's at Magnus's. Have you tried calling either one of them?"

He looks at me like I'm an idiot. "Both go straight to voicemail."

I shrug. "Call the apartment. Ask your sister. She probably knows where he is."

He sighs. "Let me know if you hear anything?"

"Of course," I say.

Simon starts talking as soon as my door closes. "Who was that?"

"Jace. He lives here. Why?"

He shrugs, making a face along with it. "I just wanted to know. Listen, Fray, I've got to go. I have one last band practice to attend."

I grin. "Is your biggest fan gonna be there?"

He places a hand over his hand over his heart in mock hurt. "I thought _you_ were my biggest fan." When I laugh, he turns serious again, shaking his head. "Yeah, she's gonna be there. Eric says she's making me something, though he wouldn't say what."

"Skype tomorrow so I can see it?"

"You've got yourself a deal, Paris."

"Alright, well, break a leg, or whatever. I'll talk to you tomorrow, New York." I end the last bit mockingly.

"Bye. Don't party too hard."

I stick my tongue out at him, and it's the last thing he sees before he hangs up.

I turn to face my black leather dress. I already told Isabelle that I would only wear very minimal makeup, and that my hair would be natural, to which she agreed. Awesome.

I slip on the dress, struggling a bit with how tight it is. I take out the thick-heeled ankle boots I bought for it and slip them on.

I brush my hair until the curls look better than their usual messy and weird, and then I go into Isabelle's room, because a) I have no makeup, and b) I have no idea how to use makeup.

"You look so gorgeous." She looks like a proud mother whose child just graduated. "I wish I was your height."

"You really don't," I say, surprised. Why would she—a girl who is tall, graceful, and confident—want to be anything like me—especially height-wise? I shake my head. "I wish I was taller. I'm barely 5'2, Iz." My voice has a whiny edge to it.

Fun fact about me: I hate talking about my height. I get all defensive, because I hate how short I am. Always have. Always will.

"Clary, I'm, like, as tall as Jace with these on." She points to her feet. "It sucks."

I watch as she takes something out of her makeup bag. "It must be awesome." Imagine being tall enough to look at people in the eye without hurting your neck. That must be the dream.

"So what did Simon say?"

"About what?"

"The party."

"He told me to have a good time." What does she expect him to say?

Something boyfriend-y, probably. Good god.

"He seems cool, kind of. A little bit dorky, but nothing that can't be fixed."

"Did you just imply that you want to _fix_ my best friend?"

She rolls her eyes. "You're so dramatic."

She finishes my makeup. I still look like me, only better—but in a subtle way. She used chapstick for my lips (my choice, not hers), and my eye makeup is subtle, but it's still there. She put on a tiny hint of blush.

I look good. Short, especially next to her, but good.

The boys—all four of them, including Magnus and Max—are waiting for us downstairs. God, I hope I don't fall.

I immediately look at Jace, hoping for some kind of reaction. He just does a take and looks at me with playful eyes, but I can tell by their dance and the way his Adam's apple bobs that he likes what I'm wearing.

I try not to smile as we reach the bottom of the stairs.

"You look fabulous, both of you." Magnus nods approvingly. "Have fun! Don't stay out too late!"

The air is warm tonight, meaning I don't have to wear a jacket. I wear a blazer, though, just so I don't have to bring a purse, but have a pocket to put my phone in. I roll its sleeves up and get into a cab with my friends; my nerves are making my heart go nuts.

"Chill." Isabelle, always perceptive, has picked up on my mood. "Listen, all you need to know is this: don't take a drink from a guy you just met. Make sure to be able to send me an emergency text if necessary. And, of course, make sure that there's something you can use as a weapon if you go into a room alone with a guy."

Sure. Totally helps.

I try to keep my jaw shut, but it won't. Jesus. If my nerves were bad before, there is no word for the way they feel now. "Way to make me feel relaxed, Iz."

Jace chuckles, but stops when Isabelle glares at him. "You'll be fine. It's just so you know."

Right. Toooootally normal.

We get out of the taxi. The party's at a house that's medium-sized, but I know the family must have money because it's gated. People standing outside hold red solo cups, and the occasional high-pitched giggle can be heard over the music.

If you can call that shrill noise music, anyway. Just sayin'.

A black-haired girl lights up when she sees us—or, rather, when she sees Jace and Izzy.

"I'm so glad you guys could make it!" She grins. She's been drinking; there's a swaying to the steps she takes that clues me in. She regards me with a genuine smile. "You must be Clary."

"Yeah," I say. "Nice to meet you."

"You too!" She's grinning still. I'm just sort of standing there.

God.

"Helen's waiting inside, so I'd better go." She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. She's so drunk, ohmygod.

"Aline Penhallow," Jace tells me. "She's usually very serious, but not when she's drinking, apparently."

"Oh," I say, following the two of them into chaos.

Aline is rich. That's the only explanation for the multicolored lights that'll probably give someone a seizure, and the ton of expensive drinks sitting on top of a table at the end of the room, near a door. The music is so loud I can barely hear myself think, and the place is…crowded.

And full of really cute boys.

Isabelle explained to me earlier that this is sort of a going away party for the seniors at their American school. Anyone could come, basically, hence my being here.

I can barely register anything. Jace hands me a cup full of something that tastes like pee—ah, beer—and then disappears. Izzy, too, is long gone.

Fuck.

I explore as my eyes adjust to the lighting. The thing with never having been to a party and being clumsy and weird is that I can't dance, so I stand by the wall, leaning against it as I watch people rub up against each other. Despite its chaotic feel, I want to sketch it, to drink it all in and memorize it. I long for my sketchbook; my hand itches for a pencil.

"You look like you're having fun," a guy with a hot accents and deep voice says, leaning against the wall with a cup in hand.

He has dark hair and almond-shaped eyes; his accent is English. He has sharp cheekbones and a slender figure, and his smile could cure world hunger, probably.

I shrug, acting like boys this gorgeous approach me, like, all the time. "It's my first party."

"You're no longer a party virgin. What a tragedy, right?" His eyes are playful.

I can't help but laugh. He grins, pleased. "I'm Clary," I tell him.

"Jem," he says. "Do you go to the school?"

"Ah, no." I shake my head. "I'm just here for the summer. I'm friends with Jace and Isabelle."

He raises an eyebrow. Ugh. "Jace is…interesting. Same goes for Isabelle."

"Is that a good thing?"

Jem shrugs. "I don't know yet." We have to yell to talk, which is annoying. "Wanna go outside?"

It's like he reads my mind. I nod. When he offers his hand, I take it.

Outside, crickets chirp, and the moon beams at us. I smile at the night and at Jem.

"I can finally hear myself." He's still talking loudly.

My smile widens. "I was thinking the same thing."

"So, Clary," he says, and I love the way my name rolls off his tongue, like Clah-ree, "where are you from?"

"New York City."

"Ah, I've been there. Loud and crazy and kind of smelly, but charming. Too hectic for me, though."

"You like the quiet." I'm surprised, considering he's at this very, very loud party on a Friday night.

He shrugs. "I just don't like the loudness that much."

We sit on the grass, quiet. "Were you a senior?"

He nods and takes a sip of whatever is in his cup. "I go back to England tomorrow."

"That's home for you, I'm guessing."

Another nod. "I came here to, ah, get away from stuff. A girl, mostly."

I make a face. "Wanna talk about it?"

Jem shakes his head. "It's the usual. She fell in love with my best friend, and I needed some space. I told them I'd go back to attend university with them, but I just—I need some time to think and process everything." He lets out an un-amused laugh. "I didn't mean to make this about me. Why are _you_ in Paris?"

"Art classes." My mouth forms the words, but I can only think of how awful it must have felt to watch the girl he loved fall in love—and with his best friend, no less.

"So you're in artist." Jem sounds appreciative. "I am too, but my main thing is music."

"What do you play?"

"The violin, mostly. My first love. But Will—my best friend—was teaching me how to play the piano before I left."

"Were you any good at it?"

His genuine laugh is like a sweet melody. This girl must've been nuts; I don't know how she possibly could've chosen another guy over this one. I mean, seriously. I've spent, like, ten minutes with him, and I'm already dying. This Will guy must have magic lips or something. Or a magic dick.

"I wasn't too shabby."

"So tell me about this girl," I say.

"Her name," he says, "is Tessa. Well, Theresa, but she detests her full name, says it makes her sound like a grumpy old lady who has ten thousand cats. She's eighteen, lives in London, and she has a nice smile, and she's just…absolutely breathtaking. She's an amazing friend, and I don't love her like I used to. I used to love her like a fire spreading through a forest, but now my love is like a steady flame. It's love nonetheless, though. But I'll live."

The way he talks about this girl…well, I don't give this a thought much (or ever), but it's exactly the way I would want a guy to speak about me.

"She should have you." There's sadness in my voice.

He shakes his head. "She loves Will, and I don't mind anymore. If she should love anyone else, it should be him."

This guy is amazing. "Hey, Jem?"

He turns to meet my gaze. "Yeah?"

I channel my inner Isabelle. I've always been, like, really safe with things; Paris has been my only big adventure, and maybe it's the fact that I'm at a party in a different country in a different continent, but I somehow muster up the courage to ask: "Do you wanna be my first kiss?"

The question startles him, and it shows. "What? I mean, are you—are you sure?"

I might as well give Izzy something to live for. Besides, firsts don't matter that much. I always just wanted my first kiss to be with a decent, STD-free guy. Jem is nice and cute and loving and artsy. And I'm pretty sure he has no STDs.

He's _way_ qualified.

I nod. We stand up, because it's more comfortable this way. And we can stop more easily, I think.

I wrap my arms around his neck. He leans down, his hands gently tugging at my waist. I find myself close enough to him that our bodies touch. I feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and I'm glad he's done this before, because I'm kind of a mess. Ohmygod, I'm a mess.

The only thing that I can think of is how glad I am that I wore chapstick as our lips meet in the softest of ways. The world does kind of fall away for a couple of seconds, though there are no fireworks or anything. Just a few butterflies, my flaming cheeks, and my thoughts on him as he slowly deepens the kiss. I tug at his hair, and he kisses me some more. I'm pleasantly surprised; he's good at this, with soft lips and a good, steady pace. And he doesn't slobber all over me or anything.

Our foreheads touch when we break apart, and I'm glad my first kiss wasn't a pussy kind of first kiss, when it's a peck and the moment is over faster than it started. That's dumb. Mine was a real kiss.

"Thanks." I'm smiling, but I'm breathless.

"You," he says, "are very welcome."

We go back to sitting down in silence for a while, until I tell him, "You'll get her one day, Jem. I promise."

He gives me a faraway kind of smile and stays seated beside me.

* * *

On the way back home, I tell Izzy that Jem and I kissed.

"He's cuuuuute," she slurs. Drunk. I shouldn't even bother.

"I'm glad you made out with a boy, Clar-eeeee."

"Just kissed," I mutter. Not that it matters with Isabelle, anyway.

She yawns. "Let's talk more tomorrow. I'm sleepy."

The rest of the ride consists of silence. Jace pays the cab driver and says _merci_ , and then he helps me get Isabelle out. Jesus. She's drunk. Almost unconscious.

I open the front door and let Jace carry her all the way upstairs. My phone says it's almost three in the morning.

Tonight was actually kind of…nice.

Once I make sure Izzy's tucked in bed with a bucket (in case of puking) on her nightstand, Jace and I exit the room quietly.

"Did you have fun tonight?" His voice startles me. Sure, he's whispering, but I'd expected him to stay quiet.

I nod. "It was fun. Thanks for letting me tag along."

He nods back. "You're very welcome, mademoiselle Fray."

Oh, yeah. He's definitely drunk some, too. This is kind of awkward, but I roll with it. "Merci again, monsieur Jace. And bonne nuit."

"Goodnight," he whispers, and then he's gone.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! xo_


	6. Kiss and Tell

_Hi! Hello! Sorry for this late update. I was trying to enjoy my last two and a half weeks back home before I came back to college. Today was my first day, and I had an 8-5 day, so I'm exhausted. And tomorrow's an 8-7 day! Yay! Anyway, I thought I'd update, because yes. Thanks to my wonderful, hilarious beta, IWriteNaked, because you're fantastic and ily. Thanks to DeathCabForMari and clarissa adele herondale (I might've gotten your username wrong but like I'm too lazy to look it up lol wHOOPS) for being there always and being so awesome and cool and smart ily both._

 _Thank you all for reading. It means so so much, and I love your reviews, and thank you again._

 _(Excuse my exhausted brain. I took 3 and a half hours of Human Biology today, and it's 2 degrees out.)_

 _I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

I hear Isabelle puking for the second time, and I thank God and everything holy that I only drank, like, a few sips of beer last night.

It's eleven a.m., and I can't sleep. Mostly because of Isabelle's gagging/puking, but also because last night makes me too giddy to calm down.

My first kiss! With Jem! A nice, not creepy, totally cute boy—one I'm never gonna see again!

Needless to say, I'm kind of very, very happy.

Even with only eight-ish hours of sleep, my head is not pounding. Thank god. I should probably check in on Isabelle, but the thought of being in the same room as her, especially right now, makes me feel kind of sick.

I check my email from my iPod, finding a full recap—with pictures and everything—of The Mortal Instruments's gig last night. There were more than thirty people there, which is good, and the guys all look happy. Even Simon is smiling at the camera, which is undoubtedly being held by his number one fan, Maureen. She's fourteen and overly enthusiastic, and she's Eric's cousin. It's kinda cute (but creepy) how much she adores Simon.

I send him a quick Facebook message telling him that everything looks awesome before gathering my clean clothes and towel. A hot shower is all I need.

I think about Jem, about how he'd talked to me about London and said it was amazing. It was his only home, and anyone with ears could tell; he spoke of it adoringly.

I hope he gets his girl. She's his home, too.

I get dressed, putting him on some jeans and a green V-neck shirt. I check to see if Simon has replied, but he hasn't. I remind myself that it's five in the morning in New York.

Before stepping outside, I wait and listen to see if Isabelle's still sick. I don't think she is, so I open the door and make my way into her room as quietly as I can.

She's curled up in bed, sleeping. I feel bad for her instantly; it must be a bitch to feel like that.

My stomach growls, and I make my way downstairs. Alec and Magnus left a note on the table, announcing that they were taking Max to a friend's house and then spending the day together.

No one else seems to be up, so I raid the pantry, hoping to find something I can make. I'm about to settle for a lame sandwich—cooking isn't really my thing—when someone startles me by saying, "You look like you could use some bacon."

My entire life looks up at the possibility. I jump, though, when he speaks; I'm easily startled. "Yes, please." I try not to look like he's just scared the living crap out of me. Nope.

"I never offered." He looks smug.

"Jerk." I glare at him.

He eyes me. "Why don't you make it yourself?" His golden eyes dance, and there's amusement in his voice.

Right now, I decide Jace sucks.

"Well, uh, plenty of reasons."

"Such as?"

"I've never made it before." Before he can laugh or make a witty remark, I speak again. "I know that the pack has instructions, okay? I'm just scared to try it here. If anything happens—well, this isn't my home. And, at home, Mom's a vegetarian, so I never have it at our apartment."

He mulls this over. "Do you want me to show you how to make bacon, Clary Fray?"

Do I ever.

He gives me the (really, really simple) instructions. He makes the bacon using a frying pan, and I watch as it sizzles. It smells like heaven. Jace looks pleased that he knows something I don't the whole time.

Isabelle walks in, yawning and stretching. "What're you guys up to?"

"Jace taught me how to make bacon."

At Isabelle's questioning gaze, he shrugs. "I couldn't stand by and watch another human being who loves bacon not knowing how to make bacon."

She nods as if his logic makes more sense than anything. "Clary, did you take notes?"

I tap my head. "Mental ones."

Jace snorts.

I roll my eyes at him and turn my attention to Isabelle. "How are you feeling?"

"After the spectacle this morning, which I can tell you heard, by the way, I took two Advils and ate some crackers before I fell back asleep for a little while."

Jace frowns. "What spectacle?"

I shake my head. "You don't wanna know."

But, of course, he figures it out immediately. "Nasty. And loud enough for Clary to hear?" He makes a face. 'You should ask Mags and Alec to bring you some soup or something, unless you want to give Clary here an encore."

"I agree," I tell her. "No big meals immediately." I don't know a lot about hangovers, but I _do_ know about stomach-type things.

Izzy rolls her eyes. "Fine. Where are those two, anyway?"

I tap their note and she nods before calling.

* * *

Today, I decide, is going to be lazy.

I take a glass of lemonade upstairs and sit on my windowsill with my sketchbook on my lap and my pencil in hand. My headphones are in my ears, and a Paramore song is playing as I begin to sketch the lovely view that stretches out before me.

I get lost in the patterns I trace, so I don't notice that there's someone else in the room until said person yanks one of my headphones out of my ear.

"Ow!" I spring up, almost knocking over my glass of lemonade. "What the hell, Izzy?"

She shrugs. "I'm bored. We need to talk about last night."

I look longingly at my almost-finished sketch before setting it down with a sigh. I take my lemonade and walk with her to her room, which she has deemed safer to talk in, for some reason.

"I remember what you told me," she says. "In the cab. About Jem." She looks at me expectantly. I'm assuming, of course, that this is my time to jump in and tell the story, but suddenly I can't form any words at all.

"I—"

"What? What is it?"

"This is too weird." I shake my head and sit on her bed. "Look, we just kissed, okay? He came up to me and we talked and then we went outside, and we talked some more and then we kissed some, and then we talked more."

"Aaaaaand?"

I shrug. "And then you came up to me, very drunk, and told me we were leaving."

She throws her hands up in exasperation. "Give me more than that!"

I smile. "I don't kiss and tell."

"CLARYYYYY."

"Sorry." I try to hide my smile as I drink lemonade. I do a shitty job. "What happened to you last night, anyway?"

And then she's telling me about this guy she met whose name was Meliorn. Someone had brought him, though Izzy doesn't remember who, and they'd gone up to a room and made out the entire night. Isabelle was too drunk to remember if they'd gone farther than that.

"That sounds exciting," is the only comment I made. I've been socializing too much; I want to sit by myself and sketch for six hours until my hand cramps up so bad that I feel like I'm gonna die if I keep going.

She rolls her eyes at me. "What're you thinking about, anyway?"

Fuck. "Jem," I lie, because maybe this'll give me something to do: lie to Isabelle. Entertain her. Awesome. I'm great at this life thing.

"Was he good?"

"Very."

"And nice?"

"So nice."

"Did you get his number?"

I frown. "No. Was I supposed to?" I shake my head before she can answer. "That doesn't matter, because he leaves today. To England. So." I shrug in a _what can you do_? sort of way.

Izzy frowns. "Damn." Then, just like that, she shrugs. "At least you made out with him, right?"

"We just kissed," I say.

"Details." As always, she proceeds to wave me off.

My iPod makes a noise; it's a new message from Simon, saying he wants to Skype. I tell Izzy that I'll be back in half an hour and lock myself in my room, excited to see Simon's all-too familiar face.

He looks like hell.

"Maureen?"

He groans. "Don't even start, Fray."

I smirk. "Was it that bad?"

"Her attempts are flirting were preposterous. Honestly, the kid's, like, twelve. She wore a push up bra." He winces.

"Ohmygod, Simon. She wants you to hook up with her."

"I don't think that's legal."

I snort. "How'd the gig go?"

His face lights up as he proceeds to tell me about the songs they played and the people who cheered them on. He said it was their biggest turnout yet, which is exciting, because he deserves it. He's worked so hard for this stupid, mostly crappy band, and it's good to see people (aside from close family members, Maureen, and myself) appreciate his work. Well, technically their collective work, but I'm willing to bet five bucks that 50% of the things they've accomplished are because of Simon. Oh, and maybe Eric's insane connections.

He reluctantly tells me about Maureen, mentioning that she was, indeed, the one to take all of the pictures I received this morning. He tells me that she was there to cheer him on, and that she asked him out on a date. "I think she's kind of nutty," he tells me at one point, and the way he says it, not entirely joking, kind of worries me.

He asks me about the party, and I tell him about the lights and the loudness and the chaos. I tell him about Jem, about how he came up to me and told me about London and his two friends. And then I tell him how we kissed, and Simon's eyes widen considerably at that, but he's just happy for me. There was a time when we were fifteen and he loved me in a more-than-friends way, but that was almost two years ago. He got over it.

Trust me. _He got over it._

Anyway, we talk about the party some more, and then I tell him that I have to go, because I still have to sketch and talk to Isabelle, and he says that, yeah, he also has to go, because he has to go work at Luke's bookstore. We say our goodbyes and I get up from my seat, suddenly missing his physical presence like crazy. I miss his crazy goodbye hugs all the way into Isabelle's room and as I lie down on her bed.

"How was that talk? And who in the hell is Maureen?"

* * *

It's almost midnight, and I can't seem to fall asleep.

My classes start at eleven a.m., thank god, but I wanted to get ten hours of sleep before I have to get up and do my morning routine. Apparently, life—and my brain—hates me, because I can't seem to be able to fall asleep. Like, at all. This is the opposite of a good thing.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

I get up and go to Izzy's room. She's painting her toenails and listening to music on her iPod, but she lifts her head as soon as she hears me come in. She takes a headphone out and smiles at me in that dazedly tired kind of way when it's late and you're not used to your brain working at this hour.

"I thought you were gonna turn in early tonight," is all she says as I settle into bed beside her. It's weird, how easily I can be comfortable around her. I guess it's the whole living together thing. I don't know.

I nod. "I was. But I always get nervous before big days, and this is a big day, because I'll be in a room doing something I might not know with people I might not know in a place I've never lived in and I'm so nervous and I can't breathe." I say all of that in two breaths and feel like I'm falling apart.

Isabelle shakes her head. "You're going to be fine, Clary. Honestly, you're already here, and your sketches are amazing, and so what if you don't know anyone? You didn't know me, and look at how well that's turned out."

"Yeah, but we live together, so it's different."

"It had the potential to be worse. We could've been enemies. I could've drawn a mustache on your face every single night since you got here, but I didn't, because we get along. People will love you," she assures me. "And, if they don't, I'll join the class and kick their butts."

I laugh, shaking my head. "You're too nice to people you barely know. I could be a terrible person to people."

"But you're not."

"How do you know?"

"Because you make time to be with your friend, who is a dork," she reminds me. "And you talk about comics with my brother, and you've even gotten along with Jace, and you're just…not mean. I can tell."

She's right. I'm not deliberately mean to most people, anyway. I can be offensive, sure, but I don't do it with the intention of hurting anyone—unless that someone has been hurting/offending me or people I care about, that is. I try to be a good person for the sake of growing as a human being and convincing myself, and others, that I can be a good member of our society. I don't know. I guess it's my own contribution to the process of becoming an adult, probably. Though I'm still snappy to my mom and I PMS a lot.

I end up falling asleep halfway through one in the morning on Isabelle's bed, thinking about nice people and music and dreaming up crazy scenarios.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! X_


	7. Thinking Too Much

_Hi, guys! I'm so sorry for going almost a month without updating! Life back at school has been very, very hectic. I've been wanting to update for the longest time, but I always have a ton of homework. Anyway, I hope that I don't go this long without updating again, but I'm truly sorry if I do. I have to focus on my future first. I wanna thank my beta, IWriteNaked, for being such a homeboy always. Thanks to DeathCabForMari for putting up with both the papers I send her and my ridiculous schedule. I love you both. Also, thank you to clarissa adele herondale, whose birthday it was on Thursday! (I think. Don't kill me if I'm wrong omg I have no perception of time at this point). Happy belated birthday! :)_

 _As always, thanks to all of you for your support and for reading this story. Love you all._

 _Hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

I'm already up by eight in the morning, unable to get any more sleep due to my nerves.

What if I make no friends?

What if no one likes me?

This sucks. Paris sucks. This was a terrible idea. Oh god.

Despite freaking out, I manage to be reasonable. I have to go to class. Obviously. All of the classes I'm taking this summer are paid for, and I'm already here, so I swallow my panic and take a shower.

Once I'm dressed, I make my way downstairs. It's nine in the morning when I run into Jace—quite literally, actually. I jump, surprised.

"Jesus Christ," I blurt out. "You scared the crap out of me."

He smiles as if this pleases him. "It seems to me that you're already jumpy."

"First day of class." I walk into the kitchen, and he follows me.

"Are you gonna eat?"

I nod and take out the bacon. "Obviously."

"There are leftover pancakes in the microwave," he says. This is when I notice that he's carrying a plate with a stack of pancakes and syrup. Huh.

I give him a smile. "Thanks."

Instead of continuing on with his routine and eating his food upstairs, he sits down and watches as I make bacon. "So you're nervous, I take it."

I think, for a second, that maybe I can argue with that. But then I feel like my voice is gonna shake, so I just nod my head until I feel calm enough to speak again. "I'd never traveled before, and now I'm taking classes with people from all over the world, and they're probably way better than me. So. Yeah. A little nervous."

He doesn't say anything for a while until he clears his throat. "There probably will be people who are better than you."

Okay. Not was I was expecting.

He continues. "But so what? There'll also be people who are worse than you. It's a matter of perspective, because it's art. If you got into the program, then you already have talent. So eat and make sure to smile at everyone, because you'll be fine."

"I know you're right." It feels like this is boosting his ego and will come back to bite me in the ass, but I don't care. "But it doesn't mean that I'm not gonna be worried."

"You worry too much," is all he says. "Also, your bacon's about to get burnt."

"Shitshitshitshit."

After I get the bacon craziness settled, I sit next to him and we eat in silence, occasionally making small talk. He loves Spider-Man (which I kept my cool about, even though I'm basically in love with him) and comedy shows.

Which is how we end up deciding to watch an episode of _The Office_ to calm my nerves. And because I haven't seen it, and it's one of his favorites. So. Yay.

We make our way to the basement, where their projector is. He sets it up while I walk around the vast space. This could be a mini-apartment. Wow. It's huge; it even has its own area with gym equipment. I settle on the couch after looking around, just in time for the show to start.

I notice that he's sort of watching me as she episode plays out, measuring to see if I react correctly to the right lines. About halfway through, I tell him to quit it.

"Quit what?" he asks, but he doesn't sound nearly as convincing as he probably meant to.

I take a second to glare at him before going back to the episode. "You know what. Watch the show. Not me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"That's not what I meant."

"Whatever, Clary. Just watch." I can pick up on the fact that he's smiling even with my eyes away from his face.

We finish the episode. He looks at me expectantly, and I try not to laugh at his look. "Okay, so I like Jim and Pam. And, also, Michael Scott pisses me off. I don't know how you can watch it."

"We're watching the next one."

I check the time. It's almost ten. "I should probably head out."

"Izzy's taking you, right?"

I shrug. "I'll go see if she's up."

Sure enough, she's awake. We run into each other in the hallway. "Ready?" she asks.

"I've been up for hours."

She rolls her eyes and grabs the car keys. "Jace, are you coming?"

He shakes his head. "Nah. I'm gonna sleep for a little while."

Izzy shrugs. "Suit yourself."

I try not to show my disappointment as I say goodbye.

After grabbing my tote bag and taking a bunch of deep breaths, I head out to art class. On our way there, Isabelle tries to make conversation, but she's too tired and I'm too nervous, so we decide to listen to music loudly instead, and we sing along to the songs on my iPod.

We get to our destination way too fast, and Isabelle gives me a tight hug and tells me that everything will be okay, that she'll be here in four hours to pick me up and then we'll go to a café and, hell, maybe Jace will join us. Doubtful, I think, but keep that thought as a private file as I say goodbye to my new friend and climb out of the car.

The thing about my interaction with Jace is that there are still butterfly remains threatening to fill my stomach with their beating and, when he was looking at me, I felt like everything else could fall apart because he has a charm that I will never be able to resist. He has a lopsided smile that has broken hearts and eyes the color of honey and he's honest, and the fact that this is all the information I have and it still manages to occupy my thoughts as I walk into art class makes me nervous. Because he's back. Taking up my thoughts. Filling my mind. Making me feel things that I shouldn't be feeling, like jumpiness and nervousness and the strange urge to run away.

And I've barely even interacted with him.

I walk into my classroom. There are ten people in my class including myself; we're all girls. A girl named Helen stands next to me, and the rest of the girls introduce themselves: Catarina, Emma, Lilith, Diana, Valentina, Seelie, Kaelie, and Leila. The professor indicates that the first hour of the class will be an introduction to the course, the way we will be evaluated, what we're gonna cover, and then the introduction to the unit (background on our first type of painting/technique). I pay close attention, jotting down notes when I need to. When our five-minute break between hours one and two comes, my hand is cramped, and I have a text from Isabelle. After I reassure her that all's good, I go back to class.

"Hey," Helen says to me as we gather our stuff at the end of class. "You were at Aline's party, right?"

I nod. "You were there, too?"

"I would hope so." At my confused face, she adds, "I'm Aline's girlfriend."

"Oh!" She's _that_ Helen. I give her a smile. "It's nice to meet you."

She mirrors my smile. "Is Isabelle picking you up?"

"Yep. She said she might even talk Jace into it, but I don't see that happening."

We walk out of the classroom, her laughter making me feel better about that assumption. "Yeah, Jace is an ass." She shoves her hands into the pockets of her cardigan. "Or, well, he is most of the time. But he has his moments, however few they might be."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," I tell her, though she didn't need to tell me twice. Just seeing him this morning when we went to the basement and we sat down to watch TV, watching the anticipation in his eyes and remembering the day he taught me how to make bacon, reminded me of how nice he can be. Even though he hates showing it. Which is a problem.

Isabelle's car is parked in front of the building. Helen walks with me to the car, and, to my surprise, Jace is sitting in the back, playing a game on his phone. I climb into the passenger seat and roll down the window.

"Hey," Helen says, smiling widely. "Where are you guys headed?"

"We're probably gonna go out to eat somewhere," Isabelle says. "Though I'm not entirely sure as to where yet."

"Oh! There's this new café that opened not too far from here. I can give you the address, if you want."

This is why, ten minutes later, we have walked two blocks and are standing in front of a cozy-looking café. Helen isn't joining us, because she said she was going to Aline's house to eat. I'm still stunned by the fact that Jace came, but I try not to show it as I slide into the booth, sitting next to Izzy.

"So," she prompts, "how was it?"

I shrug. "It was introductory today. Everyone seems really cool, though." I give her a smile.

Jace gives me an I-told-you-so type of look, and I stick my tongue out at him when Isabelle's not looking. I choose to order a sandwich and some iced tea (though Izzy orders for me, because, let's be real, I haven't learned any French since I got here).

"This is serious," she says, giving me a look. "Are there any cute boys?"

"Izzy!"

"I need to know. For science."

I sigh and shake my head. "No, but we'll know for sure tomorrow, because the teacher said one or two students might start late."

She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "This could finally be it."

I frown. "What?"

Jace sighs, setting his phone down. "She's talking about finding you a man to fornicate with over the summer."

I nearly spit out some of my iced tea. "What?"

"You know. Fornicate. Have sex with. Frickle frackle, if you will. He'll put his thing in—"

"Okay! I got it." I say it loudly, hoping that my tone will make him shut up.

"—in yours. He'll put his boy thing in your lady parts."

I glare at him. Unfortunately, my plan doesn't work. "I hate you." My face is the color of my hair.

"Anyway," Jace says, drawing the word out, "yeah. That's what she's saying."

Isabelle rolls her eyes. "In a more euphemistic sort of way, yeah. That's what I was saying."

"Isabelle, I'm not gonna date anyone while I'm here."

"But whyyyy?" She pouts, looking at Jace. "Jace, tell her that this is totally ridiculous."

I interject before he can open his mouth and hurt me. "I just don't believe in deliberately looking for something that will end in pain. I mean, yeah, sure, if it comes to me, I might consider it, but I'm not gonna go out looking for love when I don't have enough time to make it work the way I would love for it to."

Jace clears his throat. "Iz, if you were telling me that you were trying to get her to hook up with a guy for a night, or maybe even two, then yeah, I'd say that she should do it. But she's right, you know. She's leaving in three months, and getting into a relationship is not a good idea for her right now."

It sucks to hear the boy you like say stuff like that to you, but he's right. Of course he's right. I'm being stupid and silly and idiotically hopeful. Believing that anything could happen between the two of us, even for a split second, is totally stupid. I should be slapped. It's that stupid.

She frowns. "I still think it'd be nice. It could be like a summer fling."

"In theory, that would be fantastic. But, in reality, I just—I don't wanna get hurt like that. And believe me," I add, "I would get hurt."

"How do you figure?"

I sigh. "I hate leaving people behind. I hate giving up on them, you know? When I stop talking to people, I wonder for ages about them, and I just—I hate it. So I don't want to purposefully go into something when I know I'll have to leave that person behind."

I can't believe I just said that in front of Jace. Oh god. Oh good god.

Our food gets here, thank god, after only one or two seconds of unbearably awkward silence. I ask the two of them about their day, about Magnus, Alec, and Max, and they respond in their usual manner—Jace being sarcastic, Izzy enthusiastic. Soon enough, we're on our way back home. We're talking and laughing and Jace even suggests that the three of us go watch _The Office_ in the basement with Alec and Magnus later tonight. And even though it's great, and even though I'm having a relatively good time, I'm still worried about our conversation. I'm worried about wanting something with Jace.

Because it's something I can't have. Something I shouldn't want.

But it's stuck in my head like my favorite song, the thought of being with him. In any way. In every way. It sucks, how easily the lines blur. One moment, you're someone's acquaintance, barely willing to admit that the other person is good looking. The next moment, you're making up scenarios and wanting to be with that person. It sucks. The way my brain works is absolutely shitty.

I make up an excuse to go up to my room when we get to the house and lock myself in there, trying not to feel too upset. This kind of shit happens all the time, I tell myself. People walk around with broken hopes and heavy hearts all the time, and just because you're already past your junior year and haven't had a boyfriend doesn't mean that you suck or are a prude or that you're going to be alone forever. Get a grip, I remind myself. Jace is just one of the billions of boys living on this planet, and he is not even the best one. There are better guys. Cuter guys.

And, even though I tell myself that, I find myself ignoring my own advice. Because yeah, the statistics say that I'm most likely not going to be with Jace. Hell, I'm probably not going to end up with Jace, because the chances are (statistically) very low. But, well, I don't care. Because there are billions of guys. And, yeah, they're probably better than Jace.

But there's only one of him. And, right now, he's the one I want.

* * *

Downstairs, Magnus and Alec sit on the loveseat to the right of the couch, and Isabelle lies down on the mattress by the foot of the couch. They set it up so we'd sleep down here, I realize—well, at least everyone except Magnus and Alec, anyway. I drape a blanket over myself and curl up in a corner of the couch, waiting for Jace to come back with the popcorn so we can hit play.

As always, we make comments. We want Jim and Pam together, we love Dwight and Jim, Michael Scott is an ass. We watch five episodes of the series, and I feel Jace's eyes on me from time to time, like he's trying to measure how much love I have for this series. I try not to smile when I notice, but it's contagious, the feeling of giddiness that washes over me and does not let go of its hold. I can't help but like him, sideways glances included. He's gorgeous. So, so gorgeous.

At around eleven, Magnus and Alec call it a night, making their way upstairs. We all know that they're faking their yawns and bleary eyes, but that's okay. We watch two more episodes until Isabelle falls asleep.

"Wanna keep watching?" he asks me.

I nod. "Just one more, though."

I don't know how I end up moving closer to him. I think it's because I want to be able to comment on stuff without waking up Isabelle, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm sitting so close to him that our knees almost touch, and I snicker at the right parts, and I love the episode in all the right ways, even as I fight exhaustion. Jace looks like he's pleased, but also like the admiration he has shouldn't be allowed. I know how he feels.

He turns off the TV and says goodnight to me, and I fall fast asleep.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think!_


	8. Glitter

_Hi, guys! First off, I hope you're all doing well. I know it's been a while. Which brings me to my second point: I am so, so, so sorry. Like, unbelievably. Updating this story has been on my to-do list for two weeks, but things keep coming up. I wanted to update it during spring break, but my hotel had no internet, and the time that I spent at the university was spent sleeping, being with my boyfriend, doing school stuff, going out, and preparing for my fellowship interview (and then attending said interview). I know it's crappy of me, but these past few weeks have been really busy (and mostly crazy crappy, but eh). I'm back, and I'm gonna try my hardest to not go that long without updating again. Seriously. I apologize._

 _Thanks to my beta, IWriteNaked, because you're lovely and your requests for OGSamille selfies is my life. Thanks to DeathCabForMari for being the real MVP and telling me the words I needed to hear when my boyfriend went back to his college. I needed it. Thank you. Thank you both for your constant, unwavering support. I'm excited for you guys to see each other again! Also, even though he doesn't read these/knows of their existence, s/o to OGS for making my spring break the best (and for buying me a ring + the burgundy hoodie I've wanted for years!) and for exploring Chicago with me and being the best person in the world to do anything with._

 _Thanks to all of you for reading. Sorry for the delay once again!_

* * *

As it turns out, Isabelle's prayers were answered by some sort of twisted god with a messed up sense of humor, because there's a new guy in my class.

His name is Sebastian Verlac, and the girls are all over him in a pathetic way. Only Helen and Emma seem to be unfazed, choosing to focus on the actual class rather than him. I have to admit, he's good looking—great bone structure, toned body, dark hair, green eyes, a certain charm or allure that makes you want to get to know him. However, I don't see why he's such a huge deal. Sure, he's gorgeous, but this is Europe. There are hot guys everywhere.

At the end of the class, I call Isabelle, who says she's going to be a few minutes late. I groan, and she says she loves me, and our conversation comes to an end, leaving me standing in a corner like a hooker while I wait for her to show up.

I look around. It's sunny outside, which is nice. There's a slight breeze, which means my hair is all up in my face from time to time. The sudden realization that I haven't talked to Simon since Sunday hits me, and I write down MESSAGE SIMON on my hand so I don't forget.

"Do you do that a lot?"

The voice comes out of nowhere and startles me so badly that I almost drop my sketchbook. I actually _jump_ , and I thank everything holy that I didn't let out a yelp. "Jesus."

Sebastian Verlac grins. "Not exactly."

I give him a smile and rest my back against the wall once more, getting comfortable. "Do I do what a lot?" I ask, remembering his original question.

"Write on your hand."

"Only sometimes."

"Aren't you worried it'll get smudged?"

I eye him, making sure he's fully aware that he's under examination. Instead of answering his question, I say, "I'm Clary."

"Sebastian."

"Yeah, I know."

"Oh?"

"Well, considering the girls were giggling your name in the bathroom, and seeing as you're the only guy in our class, I sort of put two and two together."

"Yeah, today was weird." He stands next to me. "So, do you need a ride?"

I shake my head. Thankfully, that's when Isabelle decides to arrive. "My ride's here." I make myself start walking. "Thanks, though."

Instead of staying behind, he walks with me. From here, I can see that Jace has joined Isabelle once more. "Well, listen," he says, "if you ever need anything, just let me know."

 _O-kaaay, weird-yet-hot stranger._ "Got it. Thanks." I give him a parting smile and climb into the passenger seat.

He taps the window. Confused, I roll it down. He hands me a card—the card the teacher had given us earlier for an art supply store. "You dropped this," Sebastian tells me.

"Thanks again," I reply.

He nods toward Isabelle, who's trying to hide the fact that she's freaking out. "Hey. I'm Sebastian."

She gives him the same nod Simon gives his friends. The guy nod. Only, with Izzy, it's more seductive than that. Sort of daring. She's kind of my hero. "Isabelle."

"Well." He smiles at me once more. "I'll see you around, Clary."

"You too."

As we drive away, all I keep thinking is that, oh god, Isabelle is going to drill me about this. She says Magnus and Alec have made food, which means that—oh _god_ —she's going to drill me about it _in public_. That's a horrifying thought.

Jace hasn't said a word. Now, this isn't exactly shocking, since he isn't known for his wonderful social skills, but I thought we were getting more acquainted and comfortable with each other, so I don't know what this sudden silence means. Especially since he was there to pick me up.

We get out of the car and are greeted by the smell of amazing food and good vibes. Seriously, I love Magnus and Alec. I hear their banter from the entrance and, even though I've spent less time with them than with the other members of this family (or most, anyway), I feel kind of at home.

The MESSAGE SIMON note comes into view, and I take out my iPod, which now has internet connection. Thank god.

I type the message as I walk into the kitchen. As per usual, they're arguing, because Magnus wants our cake to have glitter, while Alec does not. Magnus argues that it's _edible glitter, Alec,_ while his boyfriend argues that _it's still freaking glitter_. They're amazing.

As soon as they see us, they regain their composure and come to an agreement. At the same time, they say, "Half and half."

Seriously. Boys.

"How was art class?" Magnus asks.

"There's this amazingly hot guy, Magnus." Of course, Isabelle takes the lead. "Like, there's hot, and then there's Sebastian. That guy could have sculptures done in his honor." She shakes her head. "I'd do him all summer, but I'm trying to hook Clary up with someone."

"Jesus," Alec says, shaking his head. "You're my sister, Iz. I don't wanna hear about your desire to do people for months."

"Considering I have to hear you do Magnus from time to time, I'd say it's a fair trade."

I shake my head. "Anyway, this guy isn't even that great. The girls were all over him, but I don't see what the big deal is. I mean, it's not like he's the only hot guy in all of Paris."

Isabelle shakes her head at me. "I'm seriously starting to consider the possibility of you being gay."

I roll my eyes at her dramatic nature. "I can assure you, that's not the case. I just don't happen to adore him like everyone else. Sure, he's attractive, but…" _I've got my eyes on someone else._ "I don't know, he gives me a weird vibe."

"Well," she says, "if you won't have him, then I will."

"Suit yourself."

She groans. "I need to find you a man."

I don't reply, but I do smile at that. "What're you guys making?" I'm super smooth. That, friends, was my brilliant attempt at subtly changing the subject.

"Some steak, curly fries, salad, and chocolate cake."

"With glitter."

"Half and half," says Alec, glaring at Magnus.

After eating, Jace decides to go down to the basement, presumably to watch TV or whatever. I consider following him, but I decide to work on a sketch due on Friday for a little while. However, my hand cramps up too quickly and my back hurts from being hunched over, so I close my sketchbook and make my way over to the basement without Isabelle noticing.

He looks so at peace, just watching TV. I think he's watching an episode of _Parks and Recreation_ , but he notices that I'm standing there far too quickly and hits pause.

"Can I help you?"

I walk over to the couch and sit next to him. I don't know why I'm feeling less awkward and more brave, but whatever. He still makes me feel like everything inside of me is out of balance, like my head is empty and my heart is going for first place in a race. I don't know how he manages to make me feel uneasy, like every bone in my body is angled wrong, but he does. And I think that's how it supposed to feel, which confuses me even more.

"Did I do something to piss you off?" I ask. "Because, I mean, last time I checked, we were on good terms." I try (and fail) not to sound butthurt.

Jace sighs and shakes his head. "I just wanted to be alone for a while, okay?"

Oh. "Alright." I stand up. "I'll leave you be, or whatever."

I start walking, hoping that he'll say something to me, and I'm about to give up on everything and curse my heart when he says, "Wait."

I turn back, hoping that he'll tell me to stay, but he just looks at me and says, "Can you remind Isabelle that it's her turn to pick up Max?"

I try not to look the way I feel as I nod and make my way upstairs, my heart sitting heavily on my chest, the feeling that I did something wrong never leaving me.

When I enter Isabelle's room, she notices my mood. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. By the way," I add, "Jace asked me to tell you that it's your turn to pick up Max."

She narrows her eyes. "Is something going on between you two?"

I resist the urge to either cry or laugh, opting to roll my eyes instead. "No, Iz." It probably sounds harsher than I intend it to, but the truth is that I'm tired and cranky and hurt over Jace's sudden desire to be alone. I mean, it's not like we're friends or anything, but I had this ridiculous notion that maybe, just maybe, we could be. Someday.

She accepts my answer. "Wanna come pick Max up with me?"

"As lovely as that sounds," I say, standing up from her bed, "I have to sketch. Yay." I try to sound unenthusiastic about it so she won't yap about how going with her won't retract from my enthusiasm.

"Have fun," she says, gathering her keys and jacket. We walk out of her room, and I go into mine, feeling like I haven't been in here since forever. I lock my door, send Simon a message, and take my sketchbook to the windowsill. "Hum Hallelujah" by Fall Out Boy plays as I sketch an image that forms in my head.

Ten songs pass before I take a break. I make my way downstairs, thinking I'll make myself some hot chocolate or some tea before going back upstairs. I run into Jace just as I'm about to enter the kitchen—I'd been texting Simon, of course—and mutter my apologies as I hurry my way into the kitchen. I opt on making tea.

"I didn't mean anything earlier," Jace says as my water heats up. I take some of the lemon-flavored tea from the cupboard.

"You don't mean that," I say. I find the sugar and a spoon. Perfect.

"Look, Clary, I wasn't mad at you." He sounds like he's about to burst, like he has built up the energy to do about ten thousand jumping jacks. "We can watch _The Office_ later if you're up for it."

I bite my lip. Sure, I have a sketch upstairs, and there's definitely a chance that I could piss him off again. But I'm not about to let him make me feel like I can't take chances and expose myself. Besides, he's already said he's not pissed at me, right? So, yeah.

"I could use a break from sketching," I tell him. "I'll meet you downstairs once my tea is done."

The last thing I see is a flash of his winning smile before he disappears into the basement.

I'm so screwed.

The lighting is dim downstairs, and the tea is slightly too hot. It makes my tongue feel weird, like it's numb. Jace is looking for the show on Netflix; his head snaps up when he sees me come in. He motions for me to sit on the couch, which I do. Of course. He plays the show and sits next to me, and I try to pretend like I don't notice his stare as I half pay attention and half wonder what got him so upset that he felt the need to apologize.

"What's on your mind?" he asks me. The show is paused. Fuck.

I sigh. "What was up with you earlier?"

"I already told you I wasn't mad at you."

"I know," I say. "But I just wanna know what was up."

"Nothing. It had nothing to do with you. I just—it was nothing. Don't worry about it."

"I call bullshit."

"Clary…"

"No." I set my jaw. "Listen, Jace, I get that we don't know each other, but you don't get to direct your anger towards me and then not explain yourself." I sigh. "I mean, you didn't even apologize."

"I'm sorry."

"Not the point. I want an explanation."

Jace fidgets a little, adjusting his position, and looks me straight in the eye. "I'm just under a lot of pressure. I'm going to college in the fall, and I'm—"

"You're what?" I ask, my voice softer.

"I want to do well," he says, sounding frustrated. "That's it. And that pressure to do well—which is mostly just coming from myself, which is the worst part—makes me snappy." He closes his eyes. "So I'm sorry. But I don't want to talk about this. I wanna watch TV and then drink and go to sleep."

He clicks play before I can utter another word, so I just nod. As the show develops, I forget about his issue and the way he acted. The only thing I know for sure as I sit on this couch and watch this show is that I think I'm crushing hard on Jace.

And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think!_


	9. A Classic

_Hi, guys! I tried not to let too much time go by, but I also had lots of papers and exams and job interviews. Which brings me to why I'm updating: I got my dream job! Yay! I'll be leading a workshop at my university next semester on one of my favorite topics, so I'm very excited to get paid to do something I love (and don't have to wake up at 7am for, like I do now for my crappy job). Anyway, that happiness (and also procrastination) inspired me to update._

 _As always, thanks to my homeboy, IWriteNaked, for being the best and supporting me and beta'ing this story and loving Clary's love for ginger ale. Also, thanks to clarissa adele herondale for being so lovely and always being happy for me and being such an amazing friend even though I am TERRIBLE at communicating. I love you guys. Also, s/o to DeathCabForMari for being an amazing mother and a great person to discuss Shadowhunters with (and now IWriteNaked is joining in too, which is p perf). I love y'all._

 _And, of course, thank you all for reading and reviewing and being generally awesome. Lots of love to you._

 _I hope you guys like this chapter!_

* * *

"Look, Fray, all I'm saying is that you should consider yourself lucky to miss Eric's poetry readings."

I roll my eyes. Two minutes ago, I accidentally confided to Simon that I was feeling homesick, and then he started listing everything that sucks about New York in the summer, such as the myriad of slow people (mostly tourists), the hot weather, and, most importantly, Eric's poetry readings, which increase exponentially once school is out.

"He's not even that bad."

"Are you hearing yourself right now?"

I stick my tongue out at him. "How _are_ the guys, anyway?"

"Missing you, as always. Oh," he says, as if remembering something. "Eric said to tell you that he's found his girl, but that he's still willing to do you if you ask. He paid me ten dollars to say that." Simon winces. "It wasn't worth it."

I make a face. "Eric's gross. Tell him I said that."

"That he's gross?" Once I nod, he texts my words to Eric. "How are your classes, anyway?"

"They're good. Really good. I miss home, but I love this. And I love Paris."

"Has Isabelle succeeded in finding you a boyfriend yet?"

I shake my head. "No. And thank god."

"Oh, come on, Clary." Simon gives me a look. "You're in Paris for a couple of months. Live a little. It's the city of love. It's literally the best place to start a relationship."

"You just want me to be in a relationship so that, when I get home and I'm brokenhearted, you get to come over and eat ice cream."

He sighs. "Okay, fine, yeah. But also because I don't want you to miss out on anything. That plane ticket wasn't cheap, dude, and you didn't fly thousands of miles just so you could take some art classes. You flew all the way over there so you could gain experiences and make new memories."

I sigh. The only problem with his logic is that, right now, my heart pulls me in the general direction in which Jace is located. It sucks, really, that my heart would gravitate towards him, since he's the last person who would ever want to be with me. I haven't told Simon how I feel, though, and I don't want to start now. He's my best friend, but I want to keep this to myself.

"I'll think about it," I tell him. "I have to go do my assignment, but I'll call on Friday, okay?"

"Sweet. I'll message you later."

"Byeeee."

I hang up. Truth is, I'm not gonna sketch right away, but I do need to clear my head. He's right; I didn't travel and pay that much just so I could sit around and experiment with art. I came here because I needed a change of scenery, something that might help me out as I learn new things and whatnot. And, though I've been to my first party and kissed my first guy, I don't think that's really what I need. I don't think those are the memories I'm always gonna look back at. In fact, what's to say I'll remember Jem in ten years?

Never mind. That's crazy talk. I'll always remember Jem.

I make my way over to my windowsill spot, deciding, as I always do, that I _will_ sketch, since it's the best way for me to clear my head. It's raining outside, waves of thunder crashing and making me jump. I zip up my hoodie and begin to sketch, losing myself in the deliberate lines and figures. For the first time, I sketch without music. The only background noise is that of the rain and thunder, and I open my window ever-so-slightly so that the smell of rain makes its way into the room.

There's a knock on my door just as the rain begins to pour harder. "I'm gonna pick up Max," Jace says to me. "Izzy's out with Magnus and Alec, by the way." He hesitates. "Do you wanna come?"

I look down at my sketchbook. The drawing is complete, and it's raining hard, and the thought of being stuck in the car with him for even a second makes me jittery, but I find myself nodding.

I get my iPod and phone, slipping on a pair of Converse before making my way downstairs. Jace uses an umbrella to cover us both as we make our way into the black car. I don't know exactly what kind of car it is, only that it's actually spacious and nice.

"Here," he says, handing me a cable. "Connect it to your iPod and put on some music."

I roll my eyes at the way he says it but do it anyway, connecting my iPod to the radio. Andrew McMahon's "Cecilia and the Satellite" starts playing, and he drives off in the direction of Max's camp. I realize now that I don't know exactly how far it's located, but all worries drown out as the thunder crashes and the song keeps playing.

 _I'll keep you safe  
_ _I'll keep you dry  
_ _Don't be afraid, Cecilia, I'm the satellite  
_ _And you're the sky_

"This is a good song," Jace says, clicking on my iPod to check its name.

"I know," I say, not knowing how else to reply. I wish that I could say that we have perfectly great, non-awkward moments together, but that's not true. And this is Exhibit A of that statement.

He browses through my iPod until he finds a song he likes. "Play that one next," he says.

Once this song is over, I click play, and "Tiffany Blews" by Fall Out Boy starts playing. As this song plays, I realize that I actually have no idea what Jace's music taste is. Well, at least I'm finding out today. That's something.

 _Oh, baby, you're a classic  
_ _Like a little black dress  
_ _You're a faded moon  
_ _Stuck in a little hot mess_

This song is the kind of song that you sing along as you drive around, but I can't bring myself to sing in front of him right now. I want to, but I can't.

He takes one long look at me and says, "You want to sing, don't you?"

I try not to smile. "Maybe."

"Go ahead," he tells me.

"Are you serious?" I raise an eyebrow. "I don't just sing in front of people."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not people. Just Jace."

Goddamn it.

Of course, because I'm an idiot, I start singing along. I'm expecting him to criticize the way I sing or whatever, but instead he joins in, grinning as he takes a look at my surprised face. Sadly, the song ends too quickly.

"Who knew you had it in you, Fray?"

I grin back. "I'm full of surprises."

We listen to music in a more comfortable silence. I'm glad that we've mended whatever the hell went wrong yesterday, but I want more. Sure, friendship is good and fine, but I want to know how the curve of his spine feels against my hand.

God. I'm fucked. So, so, so fucked. Royally so, even.

We park outside of a building, and Jace checks the time. "There's still half an hour left."

"Why are we here so early, anyway?"

"I thought there'd be more traffic. You know, because of the rain."

"Right." I pick at a thread hanging from my hoodie. "So where did Isabelle and the guys go today, anyway?"

"I don't know. I think Magnus was gonna teach Isabelle how to cook."

"Oh god."

"I know, right?"

"We need pictures of this."

"I bet that's why Alec is there."

"And here I thought it was to have a threesome when the day was over."

Jace chokes. "That is so wrong."

"Whoops."

"You're evil, Clary Fray."

"Oh, like you haven't said or thought far more inappropriate things."

He nods, a knowing look on his face. "Touché."

"So, listen," I start, my heart beating faster at the thought of these words being out in the open,"I know that I should probably drop this, but I'm not good at not knowing things, and I just wanted to know why you were mad at me yesterday. And don't," I warn. "Don't give me that 'nothing's wrong' bullshit that you kept trying to feed me last night, Jace. There's more to it."

He straightens up, more alert than before. Shit. I've fucked up. But, well, even though this may have put a strain on the relationship we're just beginning to form, I need to know. For science. "Look," he says. "This is going to come off wrongly no matter how I try to word it, so I'm just gonna say it." I brace myself. "Yesterday, when we went to pick you up, you were with Sebastian. Obviously. And you two seemed pretty friendly, so I thought that maybe you two were gonna start dating or whatever, and I just wanted to give you some space."

I look at him, dumbfounded. "Were you…jealous?"

"Did you not hear what I just said?"

"Oh, I heard it, but the smell of bullshit was too strong for me to concentrate past a certain point."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay, fine, maybe I felt something that was in the vicinity of jealousy, but it was temporary. All's good now."

There's a part of that's screaming due to being overly excited, and then there's another part of me that's choosing to focus on the last sentence he uttered.

"You could've just told me," I say. "I spent all of yesterday thinking that I'd done something wrong."

"I already told you that you didn't do anything. I wasn't lying," he says to me. "I was just not telling you the entire truth."

"That's an understatement."

Jace groans. "Can we drop this? It was just a side effect from the lack of sex. I haven't gotten laid in, like, a week and a half. It's done bad things to my mind and reputation."

"Well, you can't have sex with anyone in my art class," I warn him. "I don't want anyone to hate me or to obsess over you and use me as a way to communicate with you."

"Sounds like you have experience."

I wince. "Simon's met some pretty shady people."

He shakes his head. "I can't promise that I won't bang one of your hot artsy friends. Because, really, girls with big boobs and an artist's creativity are just too hot to resist."

I roll my eyes. "You're impossible." His words hurt some part of me that clung to the notion that maybe, just maybe, the jealousy he felt would linger. But, of course, it doesn't. Why would he be jealous when he can get whomever the hell he wants? Why would I let myself believe for one second that I was more than just some girl to distract him from the myriad of others who want to bang him?

Whatever. I'm an idiot. Case closed.

Oh, wait, case re-opened, because not only am I an idiot, but I'm also an idiot who still has feelings for the guy who does not reciprocate said feelings. I'm, like, a masochistic asshole. God, I hate my heart.

I need to tell someone about this. There's Izzy, sure, but we all live in the same house, and I think that'd be kind of weird. There's Simon, aka my best friend, but I don't think he'd react too well to me liking a guy I'm currently living with. So, really, my only option is the boys, and I'm not sure I trust them enough to confide in them with this.

So, basically, I have to swallow my feelings and deal with it.

Twenty minutes later, Max climbs into the car, elated to see that I've joined Jace in picking me up. He questions me about everything, sometimes speaking in French without noticing it, since he's lived here for the majority of his young life. We keep talking, and I eventually distract myself from Jace, though he's there, looking from me to Max and listening to the way we talk.

Once we get to the house, we notice that there's still no one there. "Are you hungry?" Jace asks Max as he takes off his raincoat.

"Starving," he replies.

"I'll make you something."

"Mac and cheese! Please, please, _pleaaaaaase_." He gives Jace his best puppy dog eyes. I have to say, they would've worked on me—and I don't even know how to cook.

"You got it." Jace ruffles Max's hair and steps into the kitchen. "But you go change, because your socks are wet and you can't get sick now."

Max nods rapidly and darts up the stairs comically. I shake my head and follow Jace into the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen island and watching as he gathers all of the necessary ingredients to make the requested plate.

"So he really loves you," I blurt out, trying to hide my blush.

"I guess."

"It must be interesting, having so many siblings."

"It's mostly loud," Jace says. "Chaotic. Izzy's always yelling, Max is always begging for something, and Alec is the only one in the house who respects the meaning of peace."

"Sounds like an adventure," I say.

"It's mostly terrible if you tend to stay away from chaos," he says to me, "which I don't. I like chaos."

"I don't think I know chaos," I tell him, the realization hitting me. Sure, there are parties and stuff like that, but there are different kinds of chaos.

"Well, you will."

Max comes running back down, his footsteps loud and clear. "Are they done yet?"

"Not yet, dude," Jace says. "I've barely had time to open the box. Did you change your socks?"

He nods. "I diiiid. But I want food."

"And you'll get it," Jace says, shaking his head.

Max turns his attention to me. "Will you watch a movie with me?"

I smile down at him. He reminds me so much of Simon, it's actually kind of terrifying. "Sure. Which movie?"

" _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_."

"My favorite," I reply. "Of course I'll watch it with you."

I can feel Jace's eyes on us as we walk into the living room, which is right next to the kitchen. I turn on the TV and insert the DVD into the disc set. Soon enough, the movie's playing. Max is staring at the TV like it's Christmas, and Jace is making the food while pretending that he's not watching the movie, too. What a dork.

I lose myself in the movie and barely notice when Jace nudges my shoulder. He hands me a bowl of mac and cheese and motions for me to scoot over. We watch the rest of the movie in silence, mostly because Max hates commentary, and eat mac and cheese.

After the movie's done and Max goes upstairs, I volunteer to help Jace do the dishes. "Thanks for the food," I say, raising my bowl for emphasis. "It caught me off guard."

"You really loved the movie."

"Always have, always will."

He shakes his head. "Dork."

Thankfully, I'm the one rinsing, so, in a moment of impulse that can only be described as a brain fart, I hit him with the rinsing towel on his butt. Oh god. "Says the guy who was as happy watching the movie as I was."

"No way," he says, not commenting on what just happened. Thank god. "Clary, you were more into it than Max."

"And so what if I was?"

Jace shakes his head once more and hands me the last bowl. "It's kind of cute."

"Just like you and your TV shows." I ignore the jittery feeling that creeps up inside of me. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. We're friends, and it's working, and my body needs to stop reacting to him the way it does or I'm going to have a crap attack.

"Speaking of," he says, "wanna come watch _The Office_ before Isabelle tries to marry you off?"

I nod. "Deal."

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! xo_


	10. The Pouring Rain

_Hey guys! I know you might lowkey wanna kill me because I haven't updated in like a month, but I have some very good (and very personal) reasons. Since it's finals season and I know my life is gonna get way more hectic than it is now, I made some time today to update. So here you go! Thanks to IWriteNaked for beta'ing. I hope you're livin' it up in LA with Mari. :) Thanks to all of my friends (clarissa adele herondale, DeathCabForMari, Ash, my irl friends, spikeyhairgood, my boyfriend) for being so supportive and awesome and helping me through these rough times. Lots of love for you people and can't wait to see some of you soon._

 _Thanks to all of you for reading! I'll reply to your reviews from the last chapter as soon as I can. Hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

Jace is the one who picks me up today.

He says that Isabelle is running errands for her mom all day, so that I'm stuck with him. Which I don't mind. At all. Seriously, I could be stuck with him any day, all day long.

Well, maybe not.

"So we can go anywhere now," Jace says, and there's a spark in his eyes and hope in his voice. I want to tell him that I'm tired and I fucked up a painting today about a billion times, but instead I think of places I've been wanting to visit in Paris.

"You live here," I say. "What's the best place to go to on a semi-rainy day after a shitty morning?"

I'm a little bit baffled by his choice, but I do have to admit that it takes my breath away. The Notre Dame is this, like, crazy gorgeous cathedral, with art all around and beautiful architecture and it just takes my mind off everything.

I turn to Jace every five seconds. "So this is where you come when you've had a bad day?"

He shrugs. "It's one of the places." We're speaking in low voices, because the echo can make it seem like we're screaming. "I like the quiet. And the architecture. The first time I stepped into this cathedral was the day I swore I'd be an architect."

I stop walking, partly to take that information in and also to admire the gorgeousness of the architecture before me. "You wanna be an architect?" All I can think about is that he can probably draw. And that he can probably create something beautiful, something kind of like this, and the thought fills me up inside.

Jace nods. "We'll see how long that lasts, anyway. I haven't had a change of heart in eight years, though."

We walk the rest of the cathedral in silence. I would start to describe it, but my brain cannot process the intricate designs and overall beauty. There aren't words. I mean, I can barely breathe. It's so overwhelming, to see so much beauty in one place. I never want to leave.

But we do. After an hour, when I'm feeling more relaxed, Jace and I go to a café.

"So," I say as I look through the menu, managing to understand absolutely nothing, "that was amazing."

Jace grins. "I'm glad you think so. The only other person who's able to appreciate it is Magnus. And Alec, a little."

I shake my head. "That was…I mean, I can't even word it, you know?"

He looks at me with a weird kind of glint in his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "So, what're you ordering?"

"I have no idea what these words mean."

After I tell him (in English) what I wanna eat, he orders my food for me. Thank. God. But then, he proceeds to (very slowly) explain to me how to order food.

And, yeah, I get absolutely nothing from that lesson. Except "s'il vous plait" (which means please) and "merci" (which means thank you). I think.

"You're different than I expected you to be," he tells me.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Not in a bad way," he replies. "It's just that, when you came here, you were really shy, so I thought that you were going to be this totally serious girl. And then you started hanging with Izzy, and I didn't really know what to make of that. But you're your own person. And you're funny. And you aren't bad company."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

He exhales sharply. "I'm bad with words sometimes. It was meant to be a compliment. I like hanging out with you, pretty much."

I try not to blush as I turn the words over in my head while taking a sip of ginger ale. "Well," I say to him, "thanks. You're not half bad yourself."

"So," Jace says, clearly wanting to change the subject, "are you up for starting the next season of _The Office_ tonight?"

"I'm definitely down for that."

"What, no artsy fartsy homework?"

I roll my eyes. "I—no," I sigh. "We're just gonna continue doing this stupid ass painting tomorrow. I love art, but I can't get that painting right."

"What kind of painting is it supposed to be?"

"It's supposed to be abstract," I explain. "Because we're doing the introduction to abstract painting, and she always does an evaluation of where we're at before going into it, according to the syllabus." I shake my head. "But I suck at abstract. I like painting things that are there, things that I can see in my mind, but abstract paintings are a lot like taking shots in the dark, and I'm not good at that."

Jace seems to think about this for a second. Well, either that, or he just spaced out. Which would suck. But, before I can figuratively kick myself in the uterus for boring him to death, he speaks. "Maybe you can just throw paint everywhere. I don't know. Abstract paintings can be anything. Wait," he says before I can reply, "do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?"

I nod, reaching into my bag and pulling out my sketchpad and pencil. I wonder where he's going with this, but he starts speaking almost immediately, thankfully.

"Okay," he says. "Close your eyes." I do as he says. "Now draw. Don't open them until you wanna be done."

I don't open them, but I still speak. "Jace, it's going to look like shit."

"It'll still be art," he replies.

So, with a sigh, I do as he says. I want to laugh at how silly it seems—I want to be an artist, and I can't even paint an abstract painting. I have to resort to these crazy methods. But, well, it's the only thing I've got.

After the initial awkwardness of drawing things that Jace can see but I can't has passed, I begin to loosen up, to feel more like myself as my pencil touches the paper and forms patterns I can't fully picture in my head. I listen to the rhythm of the song playing overhead and lose myself in art and music, for the two go hand in hand for me. Then, when I feel like I've used up all I have, I open my eyes.

Sure, the draft isn't great. There are a million things about it I would redo and perfect until I show it to anyone else, but I won't do any of those things. Despite its flaws, this drawing is raw and real and abstract.

"That's what you have to do," is all he says.

I shake my head. "How did you come up with this?" I feel my heart swelling up at the fact that he listened to me and came up with something like this right away.

He shrugs. "I don't really know. I just sort of figured that you needed something like that."

And, well, if my crush wasn't evident before, it is now. I want to kiss his face.

Oh, Jesus.

I smile, and our food arrives just as I do, so I gather my sketchbook and pencil and store them away in my bag, thankful for the distraction. However, as I eat and talk to him about TV shows and Max and art, I just keep thinking that this is the kind of boy worth thinking about. I never understood why people were so willing to let boys take over everything, but now I get it. Of course I do. I want to spend more time with him. I want him to like me, and it sucks, and it's wrong, and it's against most of the things I believe in, but I do. It makes me feel like a horrible girl, to want a guy as much as I do right now, but I can't help it.

He's the kind of guy who makes you feel like that without even meaning to.

"I know you probably hate this question," he says to me, "but where are you thinking of going to college?"

"I'm applying to a couple in New York, one in Chicago, and a couple of others in Boston," I say. "The list isn't final, though. I'll go anywhere, really, as long as I get to study what I want and get to be in a big city."

"So you do love cities."

"Well, I've lived in one my entire life," I point out. "And I wouldn't trade living in one for anything."

"And yet you like the quiet."

"It's complicated."

He shakes his head. "Not really. I get it. The quiet can be overwhelming sometimes."

I nod. "Yeah. Exactly."

We pay the bill and walk silently back to the car. It's getting chilly out, and clouds cover the sun. I wonder if Isabelle finds this weird—me hanging out with her brother, that is.

"So," I say, breaking the silence. "What did you like about MIT?"

"It has one of the country's best architecture programs," he says. "Robert went there, so he took me and Alec twice after I'd moved in and then once again when I was touring colleges. It's a great school, and it's architecturally amazing, so I fell in love."

"I mean, they accept basically no one," I tell him. "The fact that you got in is crazy. In a good way, obviously."

He shrugs. "I guess. I didn't really care about selectivity, but it doesn't hurt."

We don't talk much about college after that. We fall into a comfortable silence as we eat, both of us starved, watching the pouring rain.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! xo_


	11. Possibilities

_Hi guys! I know it's been a month since my last update, but I have my reasons, both personal and medical, for not updating. I won't go into either, but I'm gonna continue to do my best to update somewhat regularly. I'm taking summer classes and maybe getting a job, so my schedule will be a little hectic starting this week, but hopefully not enough so that I won't be able to update every two or three weeks._

 _Anyway! Thanks to my beta, IWriteNaked, for being so great even though I've been absent for the past like month or so. You're awesome. Thanks to DeathCabForMari for being so wonderful and I'm sorry I've abandoned you for like a month bc I'm terrible. Shoutout to clarissa adele herondale for always checking up on me and my boi (and, ofc, s/o to my boi for being my boi for half a year now). And, finally, a very special shoutout and congratulations to my wonderful friend spikeyhairgood for getting engaged yesterday. I told everyone right away bc I'm all about this. Lots of love to you and MLC. :)_

 _I hope you guys are all doing_ _great. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

Yesterday, Isabelle did the one thing I should have been expecting (but that caught me off guard anyway): she got out of the car and asked Sebastian Verlac out.

It was unpredictable and embarrassing, but he said yes, sure, he'd go out with her, which is why I'm sitting on her bed with my sketchbook on my lap as Isabelle sorts through her closet, trying to find an outfit for her date.

It's Friday, and these past few days have been better. In the artistic sense, anyway. I've managed to draw better—partly because of Jace—and Helen's been really nice to me in class, which means I might actually be making a friend. Score. And, well, Jace and I snuck an episode of _The Office_ in last night before Alec and Isabelle joined us. Double score.

I like the way he looks at me.

I shake away the thought and continue to draw the scene in front of me: a frantic-looking Isabelle, with long hair and very on-point eyebrows, rummaging through her closet. Her date is in an hour; she's desperate. I feel the things she feels and, somehow, translate that to paper. I don't know what kind of fire in me Jace ignited the other day, but I'm eternally grateful for it.

"Should I wear a dress?" Isabelle asks, finally vocalizing her internal struggle. She's pulled out some clothes and laid them all out on her bed, so I set down my sketchbook and walk over to stand beside her.

"Yeah. But, if you want, wear tights. Or thigh-highs," I suggest, knowing that, if there's one thing Isabelle loves, it's thigh-highs.

"Oh my god," Isabelle says, slapping her forehead. "Of course. I have the perfect outfit."

I shake my head and go back to the bed, continuing to draw her. I move on to the next page and draw her moment of epiphany, realizing that I need to start drawing new things. Or hang out with new people.

And then the thought crosses through my mind so quickly that I barely have time to process it.

 _I could draw Jace._

It seems almost impossible, the idea that I could convince him to let me draw him. I would have to do it in secret, capture a moment that he wouldn't know about, like a candid picture. But, I mean, it would be nice. If I were to draw Jace, I'd like to do so in the most natural of ways, and there's nothing more natural than drawing him without his knowledge of it.

It seems kind of creepy. And weird. But, before I know it, I'm planning it all out. He said it would just be the two of us watching TV tonight, so I could do it then, but he keeps the lights dim, so maybe not. Maybe it'll have to wait. I'm okay with it.

Totally fine.

Isabelle clears her throat so loudly it startles me out of my mind. She's wearing a navy blue dress, an olive cardigan, black tights, and black boots. She looks nice. Guys will still want to have sex with her, but she's not showing insane amounts of skin or anything. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but still.

"What do you think?"

I nod. "It's not usually what I've seen you wear, but it's nice."

"I just don't wanna get laid tonight," she says. "I mean, I do, but maybe on the second date. I'm gonna have to see this guy every time I go pick you up or drop you off, so I want to prolong it a bit. Not too much, but still."

"Do what's best for you," I tell her. "And have fun. I have to go."

"Where are you going?"

"To sketch. And I'm calling Simon, and then watching _The Office_."

"With Jace?"

"Yep."

"Hey," she says, sitting down next to me on the bed, "can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Do you like Jace?" The look she gives me suggests that she doesn't just mean whether I think he's an okay guy. Oh god.

"What do you mean?" Pretending to be dumb is probably the safest way to play this. Probably.

"I mean, are you into him?"

I shrug. "I don't really know him, Iz."

"Yeah, but you two are spending a lot of time together." She wrinkles her nose as she checks the time. Half an hour left. "The idea's kind of gross, but still. I won't be mad or anything."

I feel apprehensive about the idea of saying yes, so I just shake my head again. "I don't know. I don't know him."

"Okay." She gives me a look that says _I know there's more to this story, you lying jerkwad,_ but I say nothing else. "Sebastian says he'll be here in ten, so I have to get a bag. And mentally prepare myself."

"For what?"

"For not wanting to jump his bones as soon as I see him," she explains. "It's a real skill to be mastered, Clary."

I snort and go back to my drawing, finishing the shading. The good thing about casual sketching is that I can do it really fast. It's mostly because of practicing, and because I've been drawing since I could and have never stopped, but it's really a useful skill. I close my sketchbook just as the doorbell rings.

"I'm ready," she says.

I walk her downstairs and open the door. There he is, wearing jeans and a button-down shirt.

"Hey, Sebastian."

"Hey, Clary. I really liked your abstract drawing—the one you did today in class."

I smile. "Thanks."

"Is Izzy here?"

"Yeah," I say. "Let me go get her. Oh, and have fun."

"Thanks," he says.

I go into the kitchen—her hiding spot—and tell her that it's time. She walks out with a confidence she was definitely not showing a few minutes ago, winks at me, and says not to wait up.

Well, I guess her plan of not getting laid just went to shit.

"So she's gone," a voice says from behind me. I jump up, startled, hands flying to my chest.

"Jesus Christ." I let out a breath. "Yeah."

Jace laughs at my reaction. "You're too easy, Clary."

"Whatever, Jace." I stick out my tongue at him. "Are we making popcorn?"

"Only if you promise not to chew so loudly."

"I do NOT chew loudly."

He gives me a mockingly sympathetic look. "You kind of do."

"Damn you."

"I'm really glad you went with that instead of the other option."

"Oh, would you have been obligated to say gladly?"

He says nothing, just reaches for a bag of popcorn and tosses it at me. I catch it mid-air. "I'll wait for you downstairs," he says.

I wonder if he would've said it. I play it out in my head—the _fuck you_ and _gladly_ —and wonder what would've happened if he did. I can't imagine that ending up well.

I'm both glad and furious at his decision to omit that from our conversation.

I take the bowl full of popcorn downstairs and sit down next to him. He hands me a can of ginger ale—my favorite—and I take it from him without hesitation. He starts playing the show, and the bowl of popcorn is the only thing separating us.

Damn it, I'm so into him.

I love the show, but I can't concentrate. All I can think of is that, if I put my hand on the bowl at the same time as he does, then maybe our hands will touch for a fraction of a second, and everything will be worth it.

I'm pathetic.

"You alright?"

His question startles me. "Why do you ask?"

"You look worried."

I need to learn subtlety. "Um, yeah. I'm fine."

"What's up?"

"Nothing. I hate Roy and Pam together." I point to the screen.

"Yeah, Roy's a dick," Jace agrees.

Just like that, we go back to watching the show. I keep commenting on things in order to make it seem like I'm entirely paying attention, but the lingering question on the back of my mind is whether he and I will touch hands and whether there is a slight possibility that the feelings I'm developing will stick. I mean, I thought they would be transient, but apparently not.

But it's only been two weeks. Two weeks is nothing. I mean, Simon's crushed on girls for way longer, and he's turned out just fine. So I'll be fine. Totally.

"So when do you leave, anyway?"

The words stumble out of my mouth unexpectedly, almost as if someone else had reached into the deepest parts of me and yanked them out.

"For college? I leave on the second—or maybe the third—week of August."

"Just around the same time I'll be leaving, then."

"I guess so." He pauses. "Why?"

I shrug. "I was just wondering."

We continue to watch the show. I keep thinking about a lot of things, like _I love Jim and Pam so much, oh my god,_ and _Jace's hand almost touched mine just there, oh god; I wonder if he can feel me freaking out about the fact that we're close enough to touch,_ and _I have to turn in my final abstract painting on Monday—gross, but exciting._

I call Simon during one of our breaks. We only have five minutes to speak, so I keep things short. He tells me that Eric is writing a new song for their band that has the word "loins" in it a lot, and that he misses me, and that Maureen took a lot of pictures of him yesterday when the band rehearsed. Also, Maureen has a problem—he says it with certainty. She kept staring at his butt, apparently. Oh my god.

"Look, I have to go." I try to sound somewhat coherent after the laughter. My stomach hurts from it. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright, Fray. But, hey, if I don't pick up, it was Maureen."

I laugh. "Bye, Lewis."

I hang up and go back to the couch, where Jace is ready to press play. "Was that your not-boyfriend?"

"Simon."

"Yeah, him."

I nod. "We call each other a lot."

"Are you sure he's not your actual boyfriend?"

"He's like a brother to me," I point out to him. "Hell no. Besides, Simon has decided that he's not dating this year, which only adds to my point."

"Are you doing that too?"

"Doing what?"

"Swearing off dating for your senior year?"

I give him another shrug. "I don't know. I mean, I see its appeal, but I don't think I can just shut a window of opportunity like that. It'd have to be a really special guy, but it could happen." _If it's you, it could happen_.

I'm patheeeetic.

We keep watching the show. Jace has fallen silent; his comments aren't nearly as enthusiastic as they usually are. I keep mine up, though—until this episode ends.

"What's up with you? You're acting weird."

He shakes his head. "It's nothing. I just keep thinking about how fast this is going by."

"Yeah." I don't know what to say anymore. I don't know how it feels like to be him—to be leaving my family to start a future elsewhere. I'm most likely staying in New York, because I don't think we can afford college and trips and being away from each other. So yeah, I don't know what he feels like. I give him a look that I hope comes across as sympathetic and the next episode begins.

And the rest of the night passes us by like that: we take small breaks and attempt to speak to each other, and then we keep watching. The characters' lives are more entertaining and less real and scary than our own, so we converse about that, ignoring the inevitable things in our lives, like how I'm going to leave, and so is he, and maybe I won't speak to him anymore after a couple of months pass by, and maybe I won't remember him in a year. I don't know. A lot of things could happen.

But we ignore the possibilities and keep pressing play, the bowl of popcorn still wedged firmly between us.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think!_


	12. Like a Promise

_Hi, guys. So I know I've been very absent, and I thought a lot about just uploading one of those AN chapters where I just explain my absence and leave it up there, but I just decided to wait until I had an update ready. And here it is._

 _I haven't updated in almost two months, and I'd like to apologize. The truth is, this has been written for a long, long time, but I couldn't bring myself to share it, because I've felt totally disconnected from writing the past two months. This summer has been a little harsh on me, to be honest. Coming home and being with my family hasn't been the easiest, my medical issues have been a pain, and my boyfriend and I broke up less two weeks after my last update, which was, really, the most upsetting, painful thing out of all. I haven't been able to write since, and I'm just now starting to feel inspired and ready to work on things again._

 _However, this is gonna be the last update I'm gonna put up for a while. It's not gonna be the last one forever, because I'm **definitely not** giving up on this story. I love it a lot; I love writing it, imagining it, working on it, thinking up different parts of it, reading your reviews, all of it. But I feel like writing something a little different right now, especially as I re-think and re-evaluate this story and the original plan I had for it. Like I said, I _**_won't_** _give up on this story. But a little hiatus, especially with my upcoming move, work training, and classes starting up, might be best. I will try not to make it too long, because I appreciate all of you and I do love this story, but my heart is in a different kind of story right now, and I want to bring forward my best work. Until I can write this story with the same kind of enthusiasm I had for it before, I'd just rather not write it. But, like I said, **this is extremely temporary.** I still think about this story often and will not be giving up on it; it will just take a while longer until I update again. I apologize, but I need to take some time to use writing to help myself, if that makes sense. _

_Thank you to my homeboy IWriteNaked for beta'ing this and being there for me always. Also, thanks to DeathCabForMari (who is HAVING A BABY yay!), clarissa adele herondale, and spikeyhairgood for always being there for me and comforting me and giving me advice when I need you. All of you are the best and I love you._

 _I hope you guys like this chapter!_

* * *

Isabelle failed.

I fell asleep downstairs, my head resting on Jace's shoulder. I don't know exactly how that happened, but, when I woke up, I freaked out a little. I didn't want him to wake up and then freak out too, so I snuck out—which is how I stumbled into Izzy, who had just gotten home at three in the morning.

She motioned for me to follow her into her room. Once the door was shut, she told me everything. Sebastian cooked for her, and then they watched a movie—but not entirely, because, halfway through it, they started making out. And, before Isabelle Lightwood knew it, she'd had sex with Sebastian.

"And I loved it," she told me.

I'm trying to hold it in—the laughter, that is—but I can't. It floods out of me, and I end up half-gasping, half-laughing. "Oh my god," I say. I don't know what's so funny about the fact that she ended up breaking her oh-so-sacred promise, but it's a little past three in the morning and I'm delirious. "You had sex with the only guy in my art class."

"I think you're ignoring the most important part."

"Which is?"

"It was _damn good_ sex, dude."

I groan, putting my head between my hands. "Oh god, Isabelle."

"Whaaaat?"

I shake my head and stand up. "You need to go to bed."

She nods. "Yeah." Before I leave, though, she says, "Wait, hold on." I turn around. "Were you just downstairs?"

Ah, shit. "Mhmm."

"With Jace?"

"Yeah."

"You guys are _still_ watching movies?"

I make a face. "Not exactly. We, ah, fell asleep. Anyway," I continue, rushing the words, "I should probably go sleep. In my own bed. Awaaaaay from Jace."

Isabelle raises an eyebrow at me. "It's okay if you like him, you know."

"It's a good thing that I don't."

"Then why are you in such a hurry to get away from him?"

"Um, my bed is more comfortable than his shoulder?"

She shakes her head. "One day, you might talk to me about this."

I bat my eyelashes innocently. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Just…" She shakes her head once more and points in the direction of her door. "Go to bed."

"Goodniiiight," I say, not giving her the chance to reply. She might try to rope me back into the conversation. Oh. Dear. God.

As I walk back into my room, I realize how absolutely fucked I am. Seriously. I mean, it's one thing to have a tiny crush on a guy, but I'm slowly beginning to realize that this feeling isn't going away. For some annoying, unknown reason, I still have feelings for Jace. And I like having them. And, I hate to admit it, but falling asleep on his shoulder?

It wasn't the worst thing.

I want to kick myself in the face for leaving his side.

I go back out and down the stairs. Even if I don't go back to sleeping with him, I should at least wake him up and tell him to go to bed. He's still asleep, an episode of _The Office_ playing in the background. I nudge his shoulder gently until, finally, he comes to.

"Hey," I say, trying to look and sound sleepy so he doesn't realize that I've been up for a while. "It's half past three. In the morning. We should, um, go to bed. Not together," I add, and then realize that I'm babbling. Oh god. "Anyway, I just thought I'd wake you up."

He nods, rubbing his eyes. He hits pause on the remote. His tired look makes me want to curl up again. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Here." I take the bowl from the floor. "I'll take care of this."

Jace nods once more. "I'll turn everything off down here and then go up."

"Alright." I nod and take the bowl with me, hugging it to my chest.

Our encounters, however nice and light-hearted they might begin, always end up being awkward and painful. It's probably because I make them that way. My stupid, idiotic feelings get in the way of me acting like a normal person, and I hate myself (and them!) for it.

After I wash the bowl, Jace comes upstairs. He looks exhausted and adorable and ugh, I hate my stupid brain. And my hormones. God. Being a teenage girl is the suckiest thing in the whole entire world.

"Tonight was fun," he tells me with a sideways smile. "Let's do it again sometime."

"Not like we do it every day or anything." I give him a smile.

"I meant," he says quietly, close to my ear, as if we're conspiring, "just the two of us."

And he leaves—just walks away from me, with a ghost of the sideways smile on his face. And then I realize: he just asked to hang out together. Alone. Watching movies. And, well, he didn't sound opposed to the idea of us falling asleep together. Oh my god, I'm so screwed. I like him. Something courses through my veins—something that makes me feel alive.

I am so royally fucked.

I walk back upstairs in a daze. I try to fall asleep, but I keep picturing the way he smiled at me, and I realize that I need to get it out of my mind. As sleepy as I am, I decide to sketch it. Of course. I get my sketchbook and turn on my lamp, and I draw.

* * *

In the morning, I find Jace in the kitchen. He's making omelets, for some reason, and Izzy's sitting at the kitchen island with her head in her hands.

"Morning," I tell them, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it up with orange juice. Because orange juice is life.

"Mom wants us all to go to a restaurant today." Isabelle looks miserable, so I wait for her to get to the tragic part of this tale. "The restaurant where Sebastian works."

"Oh God," I say.

"I want to dieeee."

"Okay, Iz, maybe he's not working today."

"I have a feeling that he is."

"Why can't we go to another restaurant?"

"Because my mom loves that one, apparently, and I haven't seen her in a long time, and I want her to be happy, but OH MY GOD." She takes a deep breath. "Does it have to be the one where the guy I want to frickle frackle with continuously works in?"

"Yep," Jace tells her, giving her a grin and an omelet. "Bon appetite, ma soeur." _My sister._ Though they're not biologically related, they basically act like it.

She glares at him. "Can't you, like, do something about this? God knows my mother loves you."

"Izzy, you're her daughter."

"Yeah, but she loves you best."

"Everyone does, Izzy. I'm fairly sure it's in my blood."

Isabelle rolls her eyes at her brother and sighs. "Whatever. I guess this is happening."

I look at Jace and think about how he cooks nearly every day, the wheels turning inside my head. "Wait. Maybe not."

"What're you thinking?" Izzy asks, immediately interested.

"Jace and I could cook. You know, it'd be cool. It could be my way of saying thank you to your mom, and Jace could score some bonus points."

"With you, or with Maryse?"

"Both."

He shrugs. "Yeah, that sounds okay."

"You are the best person in the entire history of the world," Isabelle says, giving me a hug that crushes every bone in my body. Damn it, why is Izzy so strong?

"Um." I think about all of the great people I've studied throughout my years in school, but decide that she's probably being weird.

"Anyway, I've gotta go. I'm watching _Gossip Girl_ , and you two probably need to figure out what you're gonna do." Before I can get a word in, and in typical Isabelle fashion, she leaves the room and darts up the stairs.

"She could be using the big screen in the basement," Jace says, shaking his head.

"I know."

"Wanna help me do the dishes while we plan tonight?"

"Deal. You wash; I'll dry."

As we do the dishes, we plan what we're gonna make. Potatoes? Hell yes. Chicken with white wine? Yeppity yep. We're also making two salads, and some Nutella crepes for dessert.

We're truly wonderful.

We make plans to watch two episodes of _The Office,_ tell Maryse about the homemade dinner, and then go to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients we need. Max and Alec are still sleeping, so we get a few minutes of quiet before Max wakes up and begs to watch _The Office_ with us. Which sucks, because he's always like "I don't get it" when a sex joke is told. Like, he's taken up Michael's habit of saying "that's what she said" jokes, only he says it wrong. It's really cute, but, though I love Max, I treasure my alone time with Jace.

As always, he examines me once in a while, looking for a reaction that I always give to him. Though his glances in my direction can be distracting, I get used to them. More importantly, though, I begin to understand why he looks at me. I think that there's a slight chance that he might come to think of me as a friend. From the looks of it, he doesn't have very many friends, so I think that the process and selectivity of friendship when it comes to Jace is really, really unique. To him.

Which I like. A lot.

He calls Maryse in between episodes, and she's delighted to hear that we're cooking dinner. She says she'll be home at around seven, so that gives us, like, seven hours to do this, I think. Definitely enough time.

After wrapping up our two glorious episodes, I go upstairs to take a shower. We decide to meet back downstairs in thirty minutes to go to the grocery store, so I take a quick shower, get ready, make sure my phone is charged, and am downstairs in twenty-five minutes. Bam. I didn't even overthink my outfit.

What a great day.

We make it to the grocery store. Jace handles all the talking, and he makes me take a little notepad so I learn the translation of everything we're looking for. Oh, and he makes me pronounce it thrice, so people now probably know me as the crazy girl on aisle 2 who's pronouncing "pomme" the wrong way.

"Okay," he tells me, "top three songs right now. Go."

I wheel the cart, letting him lead me around the store. "Oh. Crap. Oh crap. Ohhhh god."

"You can do this."

"Give me a second."

"You can do thiiiis."

"What are yours?"

"'Luck' by American Authors, 'Sweater Weather' by The Neighbourhood, and 'Do I Wanna Know?' by Arctic Monkeys."

I groan. "Those are really good. Okay. I'm gonna say that mine are: 'Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High' by Arctic Monkeys, 'Don't' by Ed Sheeran, aaaand 'Could It Be Another Change' by The Samples."

"I haven't heard that last one."

My eyes widen. "Oh my god." I pull out my iPod so fast it almost falls out of my hands. "Listen to it."

"You have good taste in music. Well, except there are One Direction songs in here, so that might be questionable."

"They have catchy songs."

"STDs are also catchy."

"Oh my god, Jace. Listen to the song already."

I don't start walking again until he clicks play and begins leading me to the next aisle. To be honest, that's one of my all-time favorite songs, and I'm slightly terrified as to what he'll think of it.

We walk in silence, though I'm freaking out inwardly most of the time. I want him to like the song, but I keep thinking myself that it's okay if he doesn't. Sure, music is important to me—the most important thing next to art, I would say—but it's okay, because we have similar taste, so it's okay. It's fine. Totally chill.

"This," he says to me with a lopsided smile, "is a really great song."

I try not to smile widely. And fail. But Jace likes one of my favorite songs! Oh my god. This is awesome.

"Hey," I say, suddenly realizing something. "When's your birthday?"

He doesn't look fazed by the question. "January 21st. Why?"

I shake my head. "Just wondering."

"What about yours?"

"Uhhhh."

"What?"

"August 9th."

"You're gonna be here for that."

"Indeed."

"Oh, man."

"Oh god."

Whereas the look on my face is one of absolute dismay, Jace has a mischievous look on his and a glint in his eyes. Oh my god. I'm so terribly fucked.

"I'm gonna plan—"

"Nope."

"—the _biggest_ —"

"NOPE."

"— _messiest_ —"

"NO NO NO NO."

"— _wildest_ —"

"NOOOOOOOPE."

"— _most outrageous_ party you've ever gone to and will ever go to in your entire life."

"Jaaaace,"I whine, giving him my puppy dog eyes.

"Those won't persuade me, Clary Fray."

"Come ooooonn."

"Nope."

"Jaaace."

"I'm throwing a party, and you're gonna love it."

"I hate you."

"Oh! We need this," he says, handing me an onion.

"Onions?"

" _Oignons_." His French accent is heavier than I thought it'd be. "Say it with me."

I sigh. " _Oignons._ "

"Jesus, Fray, you're terrible."

I stick my tongue out at him and say it twice more before having him spell it out for me so I can write it on my little notepad.

We're out of the grocery store way too soon. I find that the time I spend with Jace flies by me, which is a shame. I need more time. I wish I had all the time in the universe to spend it with him, because I feel like he's one of those people you can be completely open with. He's brutally honest and kind and outrageously funny, and every second I spend with him he takes my breath away.

But, most importantly, he reminds me to breathe again.

We make it back into the house and unload our groceries from the car. It takes us three trips, but we do it with ease. Isabelle left a note saying that she, Alec, and Max went out to the movies while Jace and I cook in order to give us some peace and quiet. I'm becoming suspicious of Isabelle's intentions, but I feel like I'll end up grateful for the alone time anyway.

"Ooooh, do you have speakers?" I hold my iPod up so he knows the reason I'm asking.

"I'll go get them from the basement. But—"

"—no One Direction. I know."

I start making a playlist as he goes downstairs, adding all of the decent artists on my iPod. I'm nervous and excited and all over the place, but I'm ready to have this alone time with Jace. I feel like we could get to be really close friends.

Even though I want to kiss his face.

I sigh and shake my head, willing myself to get rid of all those thoughts. He comes back up with the speakers, and I connect them to my iPod. "Harbour Lights" by A Silent Film begins to play as we start to set up.

"I love this song," Jace comments.

"Same, dude," I reply, giving him a smile. "So, what're we doing first, anyway?"

Jace explains to me the order of our food as he arranges everything by stations. I've learned that he's very organized and strategic, and I find myself loving that about him. I'm chaotic, and somehow he manages to be chaotic while being this organized, ambitious person, and I'm both jealous and awed by it.

We get to work quickly. Though I don't know how to make certain things, I do know how to make roasted potatoes, and I get on that while he makes the wine-covered chicken. Salads are left for last, and we texted Izzy and told her to buy a cake, because we were too lazy to make more food—or so we decided, anyway. In reality, we wanna try to sneak in another episode of _The Office_ before dinner.

By the time we're done with dinner, there's an hour and a half left, so we put everything in the oven so it stays warm (with the exception of the salad, of course, which we cover and place in the fridge).

"That was really cool," he says. "I liked your suggestion to mix wine and beer."

"I wasn't totally sure if it'd work," I say with a shrug. I'm sitting on top of the counter, drinking a bit of wine. Oops. Even though it's legal here for me to drink wine and beer, it still feels a little bit reckless.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks, moving closer to me. He's standing across from me.

"Sure." I shrug.

"If you could go anywhere," he says to me, "where would you go?"

"First thing that comes into my mind?"

"First thing."

I shrug. "England."

"Clary?"

"Yes?"

"It's not that far away."

I blink, confused. "What?"

"England. It's not that far away."

"Are you—" I squint at him. "What?"

"We could go to England."

"That's insane."

"It's not that insane," he reasons. "You wanna travel. You're here for that. I haven't been to England in a couple of months. So," he concludes, "we should go to England."

"Just the two of us?"

"Just the two of us. Unless you want Isabelle to come along. Or, better yet, unless you want Alec and Magnus to come along."

"How is that worse than Isabelle?"

"They're going through their sex-crazed, PDA phase."

I bite my lip. "Yeah. Okay. Let's go to England."

"Seriously?"

I shrug, trying to make it seem like it's no big deal, but this is the hugest freakin' deal on the planet. "Yep. I mean, why not, right?" My heart feels like it's going to beat its way out of my chest. I'm going on a trip! To England! With Jace!

Oh my god.

"Wait," I say. "Wait. Where are we staying? How are we gonna get there?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Jace—"

"Do you trust me?"

I sigh. "Yeah. I do."

He looks slightly taken aback. "Okay. Well, trust me. I'll have it all planned."

"Okay. England."

"England."

He says it like a promise.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think!_


	13. Home

_Warning: this AN is incredibly long and I apologize._

 _So! I'm not dead. If you're still also alive and interested in continuing this story, you're a saint, and this message will explain some things._

 _When I said I was taking an absence from writing THATH, I didn't expect that things would unfold the way they did. I didn't write anything solid for over a year. When I did have ideas (and those moments were rare, believe me), the task of developing them and writing them seemed daunting, so I just didn't. Same thing with reading. I watched Netflix and did homework and tried to be happy, a task that took me a long time to accomplish. My first heartbreak took me much too long to get over, and I spent many months unable to think about love in any manner other than cynical and foreign. It took me almost a year to let go of that heartbreak and move forward with my life. I don't "date," but I met a boy I love and we live together and it's messy and amazing. I'm not always happy (that's still something I battle with), but I'm doing so, so much better than I was thirteen months ago. Also, after many, many years of battling with mental illness, I was (finally) diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and slight PTSD, which I've been working hard to deal with, especially since this year made all of those spike like never before. I've seen my friends do amazing things (deathcabformari had a BABY and spikeyhairgood is planning her wedding and IWriteNaked JUST got engaged!) and I've gone on adventures (including, most importantly, spending Thanksgiving in California with deathcabformari and IWriteNaked, where we ate yummy food with great people and life felt much better) and I didn't write, and it always felt like something was missing. Most people who go through "traumatic" events turn to writing as a cathartic tool, but I kind of froze up; my mind could think the words but my hands refused to write them. It sucked. But it's now (hopefully?) done, and I want to finish up this story._

 _Speaking of this story: two years ago, when I first sat down and polished this up and wrote it, I had a very different idea for the overarching plot. I specifically had a different idea for the story's ending. As I let go of writing and experienced a wide array of emotions and experiences, I realized that the ending I'd planned for this story wasn't one I felt comfortable with anymore. It didn't reflect my reality, which is the only reality I can draw things from. I wrote this story when it felt like things in my life would go a certain way, and then they didn't, and it made me re-think this story and what I want it to mean. So: this won't be a two-part story anymore. This will be all there is and I hope you like it._

 _Sorry for the long AN, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

 _PS: the chapters I already had written (like this one), I'm not changing. Because if I edit everything to the way I am now I might go insane. Enjoy!_

* * *

After dinner is over, Jace and I go downstairs and set up _The Office_ while our friends clean the upstairs. I'm nervous to be alone with him, especially since I'm still jittery from the fact that _we're going to freakin' England_.

A little background information: I love England. I grew up wanting to be British (mostly because of the _Harry Potter_ franchise), and I always wanted to visit. But, alas, we never really had the money to travel.

Until now.

I'm sort of freaking out. I mean, ever since I realized that I probably wouldn't go to England with my family, I always pictured it being, like, my honeymoon destination or something—if I were to get married, that is. So, now, I'm sort of imagining making out with Jace all over England's landmarks. It's both appealing and revolting, because I don't want those thoughts to mess with my head. He's my friend. My frieeeend. F-r-i-e-n-d. I like his friendship. I like _him_.

Oh god.

I send Simon a quick fangirl-y message about England and remind him to tell my mother that we're all Skyping tomorrow.

"I'm the only one doing any setting up, Fray." Jace's voice startles me.

"Sorry," I say, trying my best to sound sheepish rather than slightly terrified. "By the way, do we tell our friends about England?"

"Nah."

"Won't they find out?"

He shakes his head. "I'll come up with something. And, besides, even if they do find out, I'd rather they find out after we're halfway there."

He's got a point. "I'm trusting you on that."

"As you should. I'm very trustworthy."

"And oh-so-humble, too."

"I try, Clary Fray. I really try."

I shake my head at his ridiculousness and turn on the projector. "Is this enough help for you?"

"I would never have set this up without you."

I roll my eyes. The basement door opens, and the smell of popcorn quickly reaches me. "Izzy! Is that you?"

"With your favorite thing in the entire universe," she says, giving me the bowl of popcorn.

"I love you."

"I know."

"When you two stop confessing your undying love to each other," Jace says, "can someone hand me a flashlight? This room is too dark."

"You're just jealous of our never-ending love."

"Yeah. My heart beats just for you, Izzy." Sarcasm drips from his voice. Which is lovely. He has a lovely voice. "Now hand me a flashlight."

After continuous bickering from Izzy and Jace, we finally got the equipment to work. Alec and Magnus make their way downstairs with popcorn—and they made another bowl for me, because they know me too well. We sit down and watch _The Office_ , with Izzy beside me and Jace on the floor with his head below my feet.

I don't know how much time passes, but I'm suddenly being shaken. "Wake upppp," says a voice. Izzy. Oh my god. I realize my eyes are closed.

"What time is it?" My voice sounds like a dead old man's. Great.

"Just past two."

I make myself get up, even though my body's screaming at me, begging for me to sit the frick frack back down.

My feet hit something. Jace's head. Oh my god. He makes a groaning noise and looks up at me with a glare.

"Sorry," I say, my voice still groggy. "Didn't know you were there."

"Hmm," is all he says.

I somehow make it upstairs and into my room. I don't even turn on the lights. I turn on the air conditioning and stumble around in the dark until my body hits the bed, and then I crawl onto it and wrap myself up in the soft blankets.

As exhausted as I am, though, the word England flashes through my mind, and all hopes of me going to sleep without drinking some tea are now completely gone. When I get excited, the same jitters that I get when I'm anxious crawl inside my veins. They don't let me get any sleep. So, obviously, I go downstairs, make myself some tea, and drink it as I scroll through pictures of England's beautiful landscapes.

There's a slight knock on my door. I get up, mug in hand, and open the door. Jace is standing there, looking like he can't keep both eyes open at the same time.

"Were you just in the kitchen?"

"Yeah," I say. "What's up?"

"Can I come in?"

I hesitate for a split second before nodding and opening the door fully, "Don't turn on the lights, though. They give me a headache when I'm tired."

He closes the door with a soft click. "Okay."

We use the light coming from the laptop to guide us back to my desk.

"Are you looking at pictures of England?" He squints at the screen.

"Maybe."

"Let's see," he says, pulling the screen up so he can see pictures of cities and countryside landscapes alike.

"Where would we go? A city? Small town?"

He shrugs. "We could go to both."

"We'll only have two days," I remind him.

"So we'll go back." Jace says this like it's no big deal.

"Oh my god."

"But we could go to Spain afterwards. If you want. I could bring Izzy for that, because she loves Spain."

"But not England?"

He shakes his head. "Not England."

"Any particular reason?"

"Aside from her general weirdness, you mean?"

I nod. "Point taken."

He kneels beside me as we scroll through pictures of different towns and cities in England. He brings up the ones he's been to and the ones he wants to see, and we make a small list of five cities we want to go to at some point this summer in England. It's kind of great, you know, to have a partner in crime like this. I know that I don't know him that well yet, but I have this feeling in my heart that I can trust him. He gives off good vibes, which I dig. Intensely.

I like planning things with him. He's really chill, and he gives me a lot of freedom, only making small suggestions based on prior experience. We exchange ideas until it's almost four in the morning and my eyes keep closing on their own.

"I'll book the tickets tomorrow," Jace says to me.

"That sounds good. Thanks, by the way. This is—well, I feel like there isn't a word for it. It's nice. And awesome. And I appreciate it a lot more than I could say."

He shrugs it off like it's no big deal. "I love traveling, and you're fun to hang out with, so it's really okay."

I nod. "Thanks anyway."

"You're very welcome. Goodnight. Or, well, good morning, technically."

"Good morning to you too, Jace," I say, laughing silently to myself. My room feels slightly colder than before, which adds to my sense of giddiness. However, I actually feel the exhaustion this time; it wins over any feeling of excitement inhibiting my body.

The last thing that goes through my mind is _oh my god, I have three sketches due on Tuesday_ —and then I fall asleep.

* * *

I somehow get up before one in the afternoon.

Jace makes coffee for all of us. And, seriously, I'm not kidding when I say that he makes the most amazing coffee I've tasted in weeks. My mom's more of a tea girl, and our coffeemaker broke, so, when I was in New York, I mostly went to Dunkin Donuts or other cheap coffee shops around our apartment. While their coffee's good, it's not exactly amazing—and it's nothing compared to Jace's heavenly coffee.

We watch _SpongeBob SquarePants_ with Max, because Isabelle and Alec went to get groceries, and Magnus went back to his apartment. I found out this morning that Magnus is actually twenty, and he took some time off school so he could focus on "finding his calling." I think he just wanted to work in retail and make out with Alec a lot, because, if he'd have left, he'd probably have broken up with Alec. Distance sucks.

Anyway, Jace and I make comments about the episodes, and Max mutters angrily at us to shut up, because he doesn't like it when people comment on things while watching them. He reminds me so much of Simon it's crazy. While Simon does like to comment on ridiculous reality shows, he absolutely cannot stand commentary on things he actually likes. Which, to Max, would be _SpongeBob SquarePants_.

"Seriously," I say to Jace as we walk up the stairs, "I like Max, but that kid is so picky about commentary."

"What can I say?" Jace leans in close so that Max doesn't overhear us. "He just really fucking loves _SpongeBob_."

I laugh silently and shake my head as I make my way inside my room. I have to draw three sketches. I can do this. One of them has to be colored, though, which I might not be able to do without freaking out at least once.

Sometimes I wonder if art really is the field for me. Not because I don't love it—I love it insanely—but because I wonder if I'm good at it. It's a competitive field, and I sometimes wonder if lack of inspiration mixed with mediocre talent/skills could put my career—and my future—to an end. When I get stuck doing an assignment or when I'm not inspired for a little while, I wonder whether I'm making the right choices, whether the things I've wanted for years now are the same things that I'll always want.

I grab my sketchbook from my desk and sit on my windowsill, looking out at the sunny day. I mean, I should be happy that I was blessed with even an ounce of talent in this particular area of art. Drawing is tedious and difficult, and it is my entire life. I don't think I could do anything else, but I often wonder if I'm even that good at this to begin with. Just because I love it doesn't mean I'll excel at it.

I remember the images of England and begin to sketch those from memory. I'd feel guilty if I were to sketch a landscape while looking at a picture of it, because it's less authentic—at least in this case. Anyway, I try to conjure up the stark green of the grass and the grey of the sky, and I lose myself in the drawing. I can almost smell it, the smell of fresh rain on grass. It's like I'm in that particular photo, in that particular town.

And it is moments like this that make every bit of doubt fall away.

I stop only to pee and to get my iPod, because music is of the essence. I listen to my favorite songs as I sketch, already having decided that this, without a doubt, would be the colored-in drawing.

As I draw, I find my thoughts slipping back to Jace. And England, but also Jace. I'll be spending an entire weekend alone with him, which is an entirely different kind of crazy all on its own. Aside from that, though, I still don't know how I feel about him. I like being his friend—if I can even call him that, anyway—but I can't deny that when I look at him I feel like I want to get to know him in different ways. I keep thinking sometimes that maybe if I kissed him it wouldn't be the worst thing, because then I would stop wondering what I do or don't feel. The confusion is more pain inducing than the actual feelings inside of me.

I wonder if maybe he'll let me draw him.

I mean, I'd be nuts to ask. It's kind of creepy, I think, to go up to someone and tell him or her that you want them to pose for a drawing. It's why I tend to stay away from portraits and focus more on drawing inanimate objects and/or fictional people. You know, fan art, all that crap. That's what I would rather draw. Portraits are too intimate for me; I have to actually interact with the person on the other end of my sketchbook.

And, when that person might just be the guy I'm attracted to, it's a little bit of a problem.

My iPod makes a noise, and I check it to see that I have a new message from Simon. Apparently, he and my mom are ready to Skype. Oh hell. I haven't even changed out of my pajamas.

I walk over to the laptop, attempt to finger-comb my hair, and sign on to Skype. I put on my headphones before calling Simon, who answers by the second ring.

"Heeeey, Clary," he says, waving. The quality of the call isn't the best, but he's still very much there. My best friend. I didn't realize how much I missed seeing his face on a daily basis until right now.

"Hi, sweetie," says my mother with a smile on her face. She has a paint stain on her cheek, as per usual, and looks slightly tired (but happy).

"Hi, guys." I give them a smile. "How are you?"

"Bored," Simon says.

"Busy," Mom tells me. "How are things over there?"

I hold up my sketchbook. "I'm working on an assignment. It's been good, though. We had dinner with Maryse yesterday. I've been hanging out with Isabelle and Jace a lot, and Max has gotten me back into _SpongeBob_ , I think. So, yeah. Good times."

My mom tells me about things in New York City. She tells me she got me a new coffeemaker, which makes me excited to go back home just to try it. Simon tells me about how Maureen called him and asked him out on a date the other day, and, when he said no, she posted depressing quotes on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, and Instagram for three days straight. I laugh for two minutes and, of course, go check out said quotes. There's a lot of Taylor Swift. A lot.

Simon tells me that he got a 2060 on his May SAT, which is awesome. I tell him that he should go out to celebrate, but he says that he's saving that for when I get back. My mom shakes her head and leaves halfway through the conversation with the promise of Skyping me again sometime soon.

"Your mom's so great," Simon says. "Seriously. She got me a job at Luke's bookstore, and she comes to all of our shows."

"What can I say? My mom loves you."

"I don't know whether to be delighted or terrified."

I make a face. "You're disgusting. Anyway, when's your next show?"

Simon tells me that they have a show almost every week this summer, which is awesome. I mean, I love him and all, but the band isn't exactly the best out there, so it's nice to see that they're actually doing things and going out there and playing music. Simon's a good musician, but Eric's lyrics (and vocals) are kind of terrible. He, like, wails into the microphone about his loins. A lot.

After I finish Skyping with him, I feel a lot better about working on my sketch. I decide to do a portrait of him and my mother standing side by side instead, with the _Star Wars_ posters that Simon has in the background.

I title it "Home."

* * *

 _I'm sorry if this chapter was incredibly cheesy; I probably should've read it over before I published anything my 18 y/o self wrote. Oh well. I'll be updating as regularly as I can._

 _Let me know what you thought of this chapter! And, again: thank you for reading._


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